“Will she ever respond?”
“When she stops being afraid.”
“How do I make that happen?”
“By being here every time she needs you. Her mother’s death was a terrible shock. So was leaving her grandparents. It will take her a long time to feel safe again.”
Dillon’s curses earned another frown from Floretha. It seemed the harder he tried, the further behind he got. He had to learn to be patient. Christine might learn to trust him—and hopefully love him—if he gave her time.
But not if she had to be uprooted again.
“Which brings us back to this Kilpatrick woman,” he said.
Harper shook her head. “I’m tired and you’re out of sorts. We’ll see Miss Kilpatrick tomorrow, then talk to Burton and decide what to do. Now, you never did tell me about your day.”
Dillon didn’t want to. He didn’t want his mother to hear the resentment in his voice, suspect the anger in his heart. All his life she had hidden things from him—important things—and now she had done it again.
He couldn’t understand why she was ready to put the mill and the damned town ahead of her own flesh and blood. After the lies she’d raised him on, surely she owed him more than that.
HARPER DROPPED SEVEN kisses on Christine’s solemn little face, just as she did every night at bedtime—one on each eye, one on her chin, one on each ear and one on each cheek. One for each year, she had explained the first night her granddaughter came to stay. The little girl had been reluctant to accept a good-night kiss from a grandmother she barely knew, and Harper had decided to make a game of it, hoping Christine would warm to it
“And what about when I’m eight?” Christine had asked after the first few times. “Then what happens?”
“Oh, that’s a secret,” Harper had replied. “You have to wait until you’re eight to find out.”
“Will you kiss me on my forehead?”
Harper had made a great show of studying the little girl’s forehead. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s such a big frown there. We’ll have to wait and see.”
Almost every night now, Christine made another guess. Tonight, she hadn’t guessed. Tonight, she lay stiffly under the covers, arms folded across her chest, staring at the ceiling, resisting attempts to draw her out. So Harper simply kissed her and tiptoed out of the room.
Sighing, she went back downstairs in search of company. She found Floretha on the screened sunporch off the main parlor, the one where Sam had waited up for his wayward daughter all those longago nights.
Those days still haunted Harper. So many things she would change if she could. Except for Dillon. She wouldn’t change Dillon. Well, maybe a little. For his own good.
“He’s too much like me, isn’t he?” she said without preamble. “Willful and stubborn.”
Floretha chuckled. Her voice was growing thinner these days, but it was the only thing about her that showed much sign of aging. Floretha had weathered early, but her later years had been kind to her. Harper hoped she’d had something to do with that. The old woman was family as far as she was concerned.
“That he is,” Floretha said.
“What can I do about it? How can I make him see where he’s going wrong with Christine?”
“You can’t, child. He’s got to make his own mistakes.”
“And break hearts in the process. Like I did.”
“Broken hearts are part of the bargain.”
Floretha’s words, as always, brought Harper a certain calmness. The old woman was the only constant in her life, the one person who had always loved her unconditionally. Floretha had been there when Harper came home armed with a baby and an implausible story about a dead husband. Floretha had been there when Sam ranted and raged, before he finally agreed to go along with the fabrication to keep the scandal to a minimum. Floretha had been there when Harper didn’t know how to mother a child, showing her by example how to give love.
And Floretha had been there when her mother died, followed a year later by Sam’s death, leaving Harper saddled with an estate that was more of a liability with each passing year.
“Am I wrong to want to sell this place if it means saving WedTech?”
Night sounds—a chorus of crickets, and once or twice a bullfrog—swept across them as Floretha pondered the question. Sometimes, sitting out here like this, miles from the rest of the world, Harper felt they must be the last people on earth. When she thought about moving, she fantasized about a smaller place, where neighbors would drive by and wave, where you could see the lights from someone else’s porch twinkling through the night. All her life, Harper had felt separate from everyone in her world. For once, she wanted to feel a part of that world.
“We don’t need a place this size,” Floretha said. “But there’s something about this place that boy of yours needs.”
“I know. But why?”
“Who knows why we need the things we need? He wants to belong somewhere.”
Floretha’s insight into her son clutched at Harper’s heart; she knew that feeling. But, stubborn as always, she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge that it was justified in Dillon’s case. “He can belong anywhere.”
“Not to his way of thinking. He’s got a hole in his soul, you know. Feels like an outsider.”
And that, Harper knew, was her fault. When she’d thought he was old enough to understand, she had told him the truth about his birth. With all her heart, she’d believed she was doing the right thing, both in protecting him with a fantasy when he was young and in telling him the truth once he was older. But he’d instantly resented the lies he’d been told as a child, and he’d never let go of his resentment.
No, Dillon had never been the same since he’d learned the truth—or what part of the truth she’d been able to tell him. The rest was something even Harper could rarely bring herself to face squarely.
But she still remembered the look in her son’s eyes when he’d said, “So what you’re telling me is that my…that the man who…that he just took off and left us? That he didn’t care enough to stick around?”
“It wasn’t like that, Dillon. Please understand…”
Dillon had held up shaking hands to fend off her words. “I don’t want to hear any more!” he’d shouted, running from the room.
She’d let him go, to give him time to calm down. She’d tried, later, to talk with him about it, but he’d always cut her off. She’d messed up so many things.
And here she was, thinking she had to do the right thing for everyone. But what in the world made her think she could figure out what was right? She’d never been right yet.
ANGIE SLOWED HER CAR as she approached the entrance to Weddington Farms. She also cut off the air conditioner and opened the windows. She might as well get used to the heat.
Her morning had been full of surprises. By the time she’d finished her preliminary research on Weddington Farms, she had completely reevaluated her position. She had learned of the increase in productivity since Dillon had taken over its management and had been pleasantly surprised. To get a feel for just how desperate Harper Weddington’s situation was, Angie had mentioned a ridiculously low price to Burton Rust. When he said he’d confer with Harper, she had difficulty not showing her surprise. Harper must be under enormous pressure.
Those two facts put a whole new complexion on the situation.
Plus, Collins was in the heart of South Carolina’s horse country. Many stables trained here year-round. Others wintered close by. Not only would there be plenty of potential borders, there would be a ready market for the oats, hay and straw the farm produced. And plenty of room to lay out additional jumping courses—even a hurdle and steeplechase course. And if she got ambitious enough to compete with Camden and Aiken for the thoroughbred market, she had plenty of space for a training track.
Angie restrained her growing excitement. She kept telling herself it was best to start small. But all the possibilities she’d ever dreamed about lay before her, withi
n her grasp. It was impossible to restrain her imagination.
She turned into the farm entrance. She’d make changes, of course. She liked the stone columns and iron sign that marked the entrance, but she didn’t like the dirt road and mud holes. And the house was half hidden by trees, some of which were just beginning to turn. If she straightened the lane and cut down a half-dozen magnolias, the effect would be stunning.
Picturesque pastures stretching to a band of pine trees in the distance lined each side of the lane. She would paint the miles of board fence that enclosed them a pristine white. All except the last pasture were grown up with hay. According to the bank, two cuttings had been made this summer. They were expecting to make a final one before the first frost. That was good. So was the fact that the fields of oats provided grain for feed as well as straw for bedding. Weddington Farms grew far more than it needed.
The last field contained horses. Angie’s pulse quickened at the sight of their glistening coats and rippling muscles. If she loved anything in this world with an unconditional passion, it was horses. There was no animal in the world so beautiful, so graceful, so powerful, yet so gentle and loving. A cat could give you warmth, a dog companionship, but a horse was your partner.
Angie hadn’t spent so much time in the boardroom that she had forgotten the excitement of jumping, of helping the horse gather himself, feeling his muscles tense, of leaning into the jump with him. Nor the sheer exhilaration of a hard gallop. Her horses had helped her through the terrible years as she gradually learned to accept that her father wanted nothing to do with her. They had helped her through the dark period after her mother’s death.
Seven mares quietly grazed in the pasture, each with a foal. All were chestnuts, ranging in color from blond to golden to red. Each was of excellent size and conformation and radiated good health and contentment. The foal nearest the fence turned to gaze at the passing car. Two others stopped in their play. One nursed, one hid behind its mother, and two dozed in the shadows of their mothers. The mares greedily cropped the grass as if knowing winter would soon put an end to it.
Angie was strongly tempted to stop the car and climb the fence. Her fingers itched to rub a soft muzzle, pat a muscled shoulder, cuddle a foal. She was stopped by the certainty that Dillon Winthrop wouldn’t welcome her in his pastures.
But she meant to go over every acre today, and she’d come dressed for it. She wore a pearl-colored tailored shirt, white jeans, and cream leather boots that had been made for her by a very chic firm in London. She smiled at the big hat resting on the seat next to her. She’d bought it this morning at a local shop especially for the occasion. It was a widebrimmed straw hat trailing yards of crepe.
She hoped Dillon would notice it. She intended for him to notice the rest of her, too. She refused to be attracted to a man who looked right through her.
And she refused to consider why that should even matter to her.
CHAPTER TEN
ANGIE WAS PREPARED not to like Harper Weddington. After all, the woman had stood her up, kept the truth about trying to sell their home from her own son, and—maybe most important—had raised a son who bristled at every turn.
What could there be to like?
She was surprised to see Harper in jeans and a faded denim shirt. She didn’t look old enough to be Dillon’s mother, much less the grandmother of the little girl who sat waiting with her on the porch.
“I must apologize for not being here yesterday,” Harper said when Angie introduced herself. “I’m afraid Burton Rust and I had a breakdown in communication.”
Okay, she’d said the words, but Harper’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe she was no more happy about this sale than her son. Or maybe she was naturally reserved. Angie decided to withhold judgment.
“Is Dillon going with us?”
“No.”
Angie felt a twinge of relief as well as disappointment. “That’s too bad. I bought this hat just for him.”
Harper looked puzzled.
“He seemed to think I was overdressed yesterday. I said I thought Southern ladies always visited in big hats. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I bought it this morning.”
For a moment, amusement sparkled in Harper’s eyes. “What did he say?”
“He said he wasn’t sure what most Southern ladies did, that you were something of a rebel.”
“No, I wasn’t your typical mother.” Harper’s appraising gaze traveled over Angie from top to bottom. “Did you choose the rest of your outfit for him, also?”
“No, for me.” She was sure Harper didn’t believe her. “I don’t feel half as comfortable in a suit as I do in jeans.” It was also part of being in control. She knew how men reacted to her, and she meant to take advantage of it.
“I hope you don’t mind taking the truck. There’s not a car made that can get over all the ruts on this place.”
“I’d rather ride,” Angie said, “if you can trust me with one of your horses.”
Harper looked surprised at Angie’s request.
“Can I go, too?” Christine looked up at Angie.
“I don’t mind,” Angie said, “but it’s not up to me.” She wasn’t getting into that trouble again.
Christine immediately started begging Harper. “Angie can saddle my pony. She helped me yesterday.”
“I didn’t know you two had met.”
“Dillon got held up. Christine didn’t want to wait.”
Harper looked at them both. “And she let you help?”
Was it her imagination, or did Harper’s gaze become even more cool? “Sure. We got along fine.”
“Eddie likes her,” Christine said.
“And I like Eddie. He’s a beautiful pony.”
Harper seemed to hesitate. Angie figured she didn’t know what to think of her prospective buyer. Angie liked that. It gave her the upper hand.
Harper reached her decision. “We’ll need Dillon’s help,” she said. “Shep has already turned the horses out.” She called Dillon on a portable phone and arranged to meet him at the barn.
Christine raced ahead. Angie and Harper followed more slowly.
“Is it always this lovely here?” Angie asked as they walked down the tree-shaded lane.
“No. In the dog days of summer, it can get so hot and humid you don’t feel like moving a muscle for days.”
“It’s like that in Pittsburgh, too,” Angie said.
“Is that your home?”
“Yes, though I’ve been living in Charlotte recently.”
They talked easily, but Angie got the feeling Harper was reserving her opinion, as well.
The barn was cool and quiet. Angie loved the smells. She doubted the aromas would ever replace perfume, but they represented pleasure and comfortable companionship.
They had Eddie saddled and waiting by the time Dillon brought the horses in from the pasture.
He looked even better than yesterday, but not any happier. He looked as if he could chew nails and enjoy it. She wondered if he managed the farm because he liked it or because they couldn’t afford to pay someone else to do it.
He looked as if he did manual labor, as well. He was wearing jeans, and the sleeves of his damp shirt had been rolled up to reveal his biceps. Angie decided there was something very appealing about well-developed muscles.
But she was still certain he was a good old boy. She couldn’t imagine him in a three-piece suit, white shirt and tie, wearing Gucci shoes and sitting behind a desk in an office. Or even in an elegant restaurant. He worked in the open and probably preferred to eat at barbecue pits and fish camps.
On the other hand, she’d always liked barbecue and had been curious about fish camps for years. She wondered if he’d take her to one…
Dillon gave Angie’s outfit a thorough going over. The sight of her hat caused a momentary lifting of his frown.
“Do I pass muster?” she asked, batting her eyelashes and pretending to be coy.
“I hope you didn’t go all o
ver Collins looking like that.”
“Couldn’t have,” Harper said to Dillon. “I haven’t heard the ambulances carrying any heart attack patients to the county hospital.”
“Don’t the local girls wear jeans?” Angie asked, unsure if Harper was ribbing or criticizing.
“Yes, but not like you do.”
Angie was pleased she had succeeded in getting Dillon to notice her, but she had the feeling she’d overdone it.
“When are you going to saddle up?” Christine asked impatiently. “You’re talking and talking.”
“You’re right,” Angie said, suddenly uncomfortable under Dillon’s intense scrutiny. “But adults are like that.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Neither do I. Now, where are the extra saddles?”
“I’ll show you,” Christine said. She grabbed Angie’s hand and pulled her toward the barn.
“Come on,” Harper said to Dillon. “I don’t think Christine can stand to wait much longer.”
Dillon led the horses into the barn. “They haven’t been ridden in a while,” he told his mother. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
“I think I can manage,” Harper said, smiling wryly at her son.
“You don’t ride as much as you used to, that’s all,” Dillon said.
“I still remember how.”
Angie could see the affection between Harper and Dillon. Harper’s eyes glowed when she looked at her son; Dillon smiled despite his sour mood. He turned to Angie. “You been on a horse much?”
“Enough to know how to saddle one,” she retorted. “You help your mother. I’ll take care of myself.”
“Okay,” Dillon said, but Angie noticed he kept an eye on her the whole time. They led all three horses outside. Dillon boosted Christine into the saddle. Harper’s mount was restless, but Dillon held on to the bridle until the animal calmed down.
“I guess I’m the only one left,” Angie said.
“You sure about this?” Dillon asked.
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