Kentucky Heat

by Fern Michaels

  “He ate three of Matilda’s brownies,” Hatch said.

  “She’s fixing up a box for him to take back to his wife. He said they were the best he ever ate.”

  Twenty minutes later the Secret Service escorted the two couples to the long, waiting limousine. “The president will be along in a minute. He’s talking to your housekeeper. She’s wrapping a package for him,” the agent named Josh said.

  Conversation was general. Mostly how worrisome the weather would be for the Run for the Roses. “Shufly does real well on a sloppy track, Mr. President. I’ve trained him for all conditions. If you can’t make it here for the race, will you watch it on television?”

  “Absolutely.” The president smiled.

  “If I win, I’ll give you a thumbs-up, Mr. President,” Nealy promised.

  “I’ll be watching for it.”

  The presidential motorcade slowed to a mere crawl to pull alongside the long awning over the Derby Ballroom in town. Secret Service agents flanked both sides of the long walk to the door. Other agents were scattered everywhere, a virtual army of dark-clad warriors.

  The small black boxes in the agents’ hands squawked to life. Nealy watched the flashing buttons, heard bits of the conversation. “All the guests are seated. Area’s snow-white. The president can depart the limousine.”

  The president stepped out of the limousine, followed by Nealy and Ruby, and then Metaxas and Hatch. “Single file until we’re inside. The president goes first,” Josh ordered.

  Inside the foyer, Nealy noticed that the wide, dark, teakwood doors were closed tight, agents flanking both sides. She knew there were at least five dozen more agents inside the ballroom. Some dressed as waiters, others as guests, and still others as reporters or photographers.

  “Take the president’s arm, Ms. Clay.”

  Nealy’s eyes apologized to Hatch as she stepped forward. He nodded, a wide smile on his face.

  “Mr. President, don’t walk fast. I’m not used to walking in four-inch heels,” Nealy whispered.

  “You sound like my wife, Nealy. She has shoes for sitting, shoes for standing, and shoes for walking. Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay, Mr. President.”

  “Then let’s do it!”

  The wide teakwood doors opened to a short drum-roll followed by one of the agents announcing loudly and clearly, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States and Nealy Diamond Clay!”

  Nealy saw Dagmar grinning from ear to ear as her photographer shot the first picture of the evening—the picture that would flash around the world within hours and the World Wide Web in minutes. She saw the stunned faces in the room, watched the guests rise to their feet in amazed disbelief. “This is kind of like the feeling I had when I crossed the finish line at the Derby, Mr. President,” Nealy whispered.

  The president stopped in mid-stride. He looked down at Nealy, and said, “No kidding!”

  Nealy laughed. “No kidding, Mr. President.” He hugged her then for all the room to see. She felt ten feet tall and invincible.

  Later, Nealy said to anyone who would listen, “I don’t remember a thing after I danced with the president. The rest of the night was a blur.”

  11

  She was a golden-haired cherub, a whirlwind of activity. Emmie looked up from the computer she was working on and smiled. “Is it time for our tea party yet, Gabby?”

  The little girl nodded, her blond curls bouncing. She pointed to the small table and chairs and the place setting for three. Emmie nodded. “Uncle Nick will be here soon. He said he was bringing chocolate ice cream.” The little girl clapped her hands in anticipation.

  A fat puppy named Cookie whirled around her feet as he attempted to catch his tail. Gabby shook with laughter as she bent down to hug him close to her chest. The puppy wiggled and in the end gave up and licked her face, happy to be cuddled and loved.

  A door opened and closed. “I’m here!” a voice rang out. “Where’s my girl! Guess what I have! Chocolate ice cream! Hi, Emmie,” Nick said, scooping Gabby into his arms and hugging Emmie at the same time.

  Emmie walked around her computer desk. “You look . . . like someone who has the world by the tail, Nick. What happened?”

  “I’m done. I’m done, Emmie! I have a life now.” He twirled Gabby around and around before he set her down. “I can sleep till ten in the morning or I can sleep the clock around. I have time to take you and Emmie out to dinner or lunch or even breakfast. I have time to sit down and read a newspaper if I want.” He started dishing ice cream into Gabby’s miniature bowls. “I can drink three bottles of beer, one after the other. All I have to do is take the bar and God Almighty, if I pass, I’m a real lawyer. A lawyer with a job! It doesn’t get any better than that.”

  Gabby placed two cookies on each plate while Emmie poured lukewarm tea into tiny cups.

  “I cooked them, Uncle Nick. Me and Mommie cooked them just for you.”

  “I’m impressed. See, I kept my promise, and you promised if I came to your tea party, you would take a nice long nap for Mommie and me. Then when you wake up, I’m going to take you and Mommie out to dinner. You have to get all dressed up and wear your shiny shoes and your socks with the pretty ribbons. Do you have a party dress?”

  “I have two party dresses. A pink one and a blue one. Can we bring Cookie to dinner?”

  “No, Cookie has to stay here, but we’ll bring him back something real good. Finish your ice cream, then it’s nap time. This tea is delicious.” Nick grinned as he picked up the tiny cup.

  “Are you going to sleep at our house today, Uncle Nick?”

  “You bet. I brought my pajamas and everything. When you’re ready, Mommie will clean you up and I’ll carry you upstairs on my shoulders. Howzat?”

  Gabby’s eyes brightened. “Oh, goodie. Can Cookie sleep with me?”

  “Sure,” Emmie said, wiping her daughter’s face and hands. She smiled when Nick lifted the little girl onto his shoulders and proceeded to gallop up the steps.

  Nick . . . a lawyer. Finally, after all this time, he was free to be who he wanted to be. Emmie felt so proud she wanted to shout her happiness. The only problem was, there was no one within shouting distance to hear.

  The moment Nick sat down at the table she knew there was something else on his mind. “How about some coffee, Nick? I’m ready for a break. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, there are a few other things.” Nick reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew three airline tickets. “It’s time to go home, Emmie. The Derby is on Saturday. Mom’s riding. I have to be honest, I’m worried sick. When she was younger and ran, it was different. She’s old now. You know as well as I do a jockey takes his life and the life of his horse in hand every time they race. What if something happens?”

  “Nick, you make Mom sound ancient. She’s only fifty-two. Plenty of jockeys run at that age and even older. I’m sure she’s been training. She wouldn’t do it if she wasn’t fit. Shufly must be some kind of horse to make her do this.”

  “You want to go home, don’t you, Emmie?”

  “I do, Nick. I really do. I’ve missed Mom so much. She’s never seen Gabby. I can never give her back those early years. I can give her the rest of them, though. What about you?”

  “I miss the farm, I won’t deny it, but my place is here. I know now this is where I belong, where I want to be. I can’t wait to practice law, Emmie. The best thing would be if Mom welcomes us and lets me visit. Do you think she’ll unbend?”

  “I’m almost sure she will, Nick. She’s going to be so proud of you she’s going to burst. We’re family. We need to be at the Derby to cheer her on. Maybe she’ll invite us back to the farm.”

  “Okay, we’re going home Friday. God, it’s been so long.”

  Emmie almost swooned, but she steadied herself. “I’ll call the management company and have them open the house and clean it. Is that okay with you, Nick? We’ll stay at my house in case . . . You know, in case Mom
doesn’t unbend.”

  “Sure. Will you be okay going back to the house where you lived with Buddy?”

  “I’m okay with it, Nick. And before you can ask, no, I’m not going to say anything to Buddy. Why should I? Think about it for just a minute. He’s never once contacted me after he dumped me on the gangplank when we got back to port. He never wanted children because he was afraid they might turn out to be deaf like he is. He didn’t even take the time to drop me a note after the divorce. He wasn’t in court either. I didn’t expect him to be, but it would have been nice. That part of my life is over. My new life includes Gabby and excludes him. When Gabby is older and can understand, I’ll explain to her why she doesn’t have a father. Maybe someday I’ll feel differently, but I doubt it. Time will tell. What’s the rest of it, Nick?”

  “There’s something else I didn’t tell you. Don’t ask me why. I had a bronze of Shufly made. They’re going to erect the sculpture the day before the Derby. My dad commissioned the one for Flyby. It’s only right that I do one for Shufly. Dover Wilkie took a picture and, let me tell you, it was scary. Shufly looks exactly like Flyby. Same coloring, same markings, same everything. Months ago, I got in touch with the people that sculpted and bronzed Flyby. It will be up and in place by midmorning on Friday, the day before the Derby. I thought that was kind of appropriate. I can’t wait to see it.”

  Emmie’s expression went from shock to excitement. “Mom will go over the moon, Nick.”

  “I hope so. You know how she is when she’s pissed about something. She might knock it down. Who the hell thought she would boot our asses out of there? I wish now I hadn’t been so mule-headed and defied her. She might have mellowed these past few years, but I don’t know that for sure. I wish I did. God, I wish so many things.”

  As if reading his mind, Emmie asked, “Nothing on Willow, huh?” She poured fresh coffee into Nick’s cup.

  Her intuitiveness didn’t surprise him. It was that same intuitiveness that made her so good with horses. “Yes and no. Hatch has some of the firm’s investigators working on it. Hell, they’ve been working on it from day one, and no one has come up with anything. He called on Sunday to tell me he had a possible lead. He’s following up on it. I’m not real hopeful. Willow is simply nowhere to be found. I’m also realistic enough to know if Willow really loved me, Mom wouldn’t have been able to scare her off.”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever know what happened,” Emmie said, biting into one of the sugar cookies from Gabby’s plate. “It’s been such a long time, Nick. Do you still feel the same way you did when she disappeared?”

  “I don’t know what I feel. I still dream about her. Sometimes when I allow myself the luxury of thinking about her, I get damn mad. One night I had this really bad dream. She was laughing at me and calling me a foolish young boy. It wasn’t a nice laugh. She was mocking me, mocking my feelings for her. I don’t want to talk about Willow because it makes me crazy. Look, I’m going upstairs to pack, and then I have a few errands to run. Let me throw this out to you, Emmie. These are first-class plane tickets, so we could switch up and leave today if we wanted to. I can help you open the house and clean up instead of the management company doing it. How do you feel about that?”

  “Oh, Nick, yes, let’s do it. Let’s go home. Call the airlines and see if you can switch. I can’t wait. We have to take Cookie with us. Gabby will be devastated if he doesn’t go with us.”

  “We’ll carry him in his little carry bag. He only weighs seven pounds and I don’t want to put him in cargo. I’ll take care of everything. See about emptying the fridge and all that stuff you have to do when you go away for a week. I’m thinking a week, Emmie. Anything more will be a bonus.”

  Emmie twirled around like a ballet dancer. “We’re going home. The banished children are finally going home.” Tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

  “Yeah, we’re going home,” Nick said softly as he wrapped his arms around Emmie. “Don’t have high expectations, Emmie. If things don’t go well, we won’t be disappointed. We’re making the first move. After that, it’s up to Mom.”

  Nealy stared down at the envelope on the kitchen table. She saw her name in dark ink across the front. Her heart thumped in her chest as she looked around the empty kitchen. It was seven o’clock, breakfast time. Where was Hatch? When he visited, he was usually the first one at the table, coffee cup in hand.

  Smitty breezed into the kitchen swinging her voluminous tote bag. “I’m so hungry I could eat a bear,” she grumbled good-naturedly. “What’s that you’re holding?”

  “A letter. It was on the table when I came up from the barn. It might have been there earlier, but I didn’t see it. I don’t know who it’s from.”

  Smitty grimaced as she poured coffee into two cups. “There’s a way for you to find out. Open the damn thing, Nealy.”

  “What if it’s bad news of some kind? It must be from Hatch.”

  “I see,” Smitty said thoughtfully as she fired up her first cigarette of the day. “You finally discovered that you’re more than just a little fond of the gentle giant, and you’re afraid you might be holding a Dear John letter. Or, you think this might be bad news and right now you can’t handle bad news. How am I doing so far, sweetie?”

  “As always, on the money,” Nealy groused. “Do you always have to be right?”

  “Being right is better than being wrong. You like him a lot, don’t you?”

  Nealy knew Smitty wouldn’t let it go. Sometimes she was like a dog with a bone. “Probably more than I bargained for. He . . . he makes my ears sweat, Smitty.”

  “Whoa,” Smitty said, her eyes popping wide. “That’s heavy-duty stuff.” She grinned. “And such a wonderfully romantic way of putting it.”

  “I didn’t . . . wasn’t expecting to feel . . . friends was one thing . . . then . . . then somehow, it changed.” An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks. As old as she was, she was still embarrassed to talk about sex.

  “And . . .”

  “And nothing. Right now there is no room for anything but the upcoming races. Once they’re finished, come what may, I’m seriously thinking of retiring and letting the workers run the farm. They’re good people and they’ve all been here for years and years. I’m just in the thinking stage, Smitty, so don’t read something into this that isn’t there.”

  “Open the envelope, Nealy.”

  Nealy ripped at the farm stationery.

  Dear Nealy,

  I’m sorry about this but I got a call a short while ago that demands I leave immediately. It was late, and I didn’t want to wake you. I hate leaving notes for people. I’ll try to call later today or tomorrow. I promise I’ll be back in time for the race, probably sometime Friday so I’ll be able to travel with you to Churchill Downs.

  I miss you already and I haven’t even left.

  Hatch

  “I really thought it was going to be something, you know, awful,” Nealy said, relief singing in her voice. “You don’t think it has anything to do with the kids, do you?”

  “No. He would have told you if that was the case. You told me yourself he travels all over. Business is business. Where’s Matilda?”

  “The milk and egg man’s delivery truck broke down out by the main road. She took the golf cart to go pick up the eggs and milk. She’ll be back in a minute. She fried bacon. Help yourself.”

  “What are you having, Nealy?”

  “Yogurt and a slice of toast. Half a banana. I’d kill for blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs.”

  Smitty sipped at her coffee and smacked her lips. “So he makes your ears sweat, huh? Tell me more.” She winked slyly.

  Nealy rolled her eyes. “Smitty, do you think I’m too old?”

  Smitty feigned innocence. “Do you mean are you too old to have your ears sweat or are you too old to ride the Derby?”

  Nealy threw the dish towel at her.

  Aruba, the hub of the Dutch Caribbean.

  Hatch stepped from the taxi,
jacket in hand, his shirt and collar soaked with his own perspiration. He paid the driver, turned his travel bag over to a porter, and mopped at his brow.

  Hatch took a moment to survey his surroundings. He loved Aruba because it was filled with pastel-colored buildings, windmills, divi-divi trees, golf courses, modern resorts, romantic restaurants, garden courtyards, and sugar-colored sand. A wonderful place to kick back and relax. Not a place to vacation alone.

  Aruba, a desert island cooled by winds so strong that the island was dotted by the famous wind-bent divi-divi trees. Hatch looked over his shoulder. He could see the beaches to the southwest part of the island and the palm-lined oases washed by crystal-clear waters. He’d jogged the seven long miles of incredible white-sand beaches hundreds of times, his eyes on the calm waters that were so perfect for windsurfing, para-sailing, jet skiing, sailing, and diving. All of which he’d done each and every time he’d visited the island.

  Hatch closed his eyes, trying to picture Nealy and himself in these lush surroundings. Maybe when the Belmont was over he would suggest coming here for a little R & R. He blinked. This was no time to get sidetracked. He was here on a mission: to find Willow Bishop, who, according to the latest monthly report from the firm’s detective agency, was working as a master chef at the island’s most prestigious hotel and resort, managed by a friend of his.

  He needed to get into some island attire so he would blend in, but first he needed a shower. Then he would call down to the manager, whom he’d represented several times over the years. Claude Yokim loved to talk and no doubt would share what he knew about his new chef.