“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Summer said. She fiddled with the knot of a khaki-colored cashmere sweater around her shoulders.
“Oh, hi, Summer. I didn’t hear you walk up.” This was the last thing she needed right now. Hadn’t she had enough for one day? Now, she’d have to listen to Summer’s crap.
“Yes, well that’s obvious. You’ve done some wonderful things to the place since I was last here. When was that? I think your Christmas party? God, a year ago—can you believe that? We really shouldn’t let time go by without visiting. It’s simply not neighborly.”
What in the world did Ethan see in this woman? “Summer, why are you here? We both know that there isn’t a lot of love lost between us, so don’t carry on about how we should get together more often.”
Summer shrugged. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your uncle. I cared a lot for Lou and I wanted to extend my condolences because I know how close you were with him.”
Michaela studied her. “Thank you. You didn’t have to come out here to tell me that, though. You could have called, but I do appreciate it.” She wondered if she should pursue asking Summer about Lou’s books. “You were still working for my uncle?” She’d decided to go for it, although with trepidation.
“Some. Lou really wanted to have somebody come on full-time, and I can’t do that. I have my own business to run. I did his books on the side to subsidize my own work.”
Why was she lying? Michaela knew that Summer had been relieved of most of her duties because of the obscene way she’d left Ethan. And, Lou held a grudge, as Ethan should have as well! “Oh, so your business is taking off? You training a lot of jumpers these days?” Michaela tried to be nice. She knew that Summer had grown up riding warmbloods and thoroughbreds and had done well in the world of show jumping.
“Yes. It’s going well, and now with things kind of changing in my world . . .” She ran a hand over her stomach and looked down. “. . . I’m thinking about expanding my business into a breeding program, kind of like what Lou had.”
“Huh. You’re multitalented.” Michaela tilted her head to the side. “I didn’t know you bred horses.”
Summer let out an aggrieved sigh. “I don’t. I would, of course, hire a breeding manager, but I think that Ethan can help me get it off the ground. He’s a vet, after all. I’m sure that until I found the right person, he could do it for me.”
“Right.” Michaela nodded. “Well, good luck with that. Thanks for stopping by. Sorry to be short, but I have work to do.”
Something not so deep down told Michaela that this conversation was far from over and that Summer hadn’t only come here to pay her respects. She’d seen the woman work her “magic” on her friend, and she had the art of manipulation down to a science. Michaela felt sick to her stomach and decided not to pursue a line of questioning about Uncle Lou’s books with Summer until she found out what institution the money from the owners of the mares had been deposited into.
“Michaela?”
“Yes?”
“I am aware that Ethan has confided in you about our . . . little surprise.” Again she touched her stomach, and Michaela’s did a flip.
“Yes.”
“Well, I am very happy about the situation.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“And I am coming to you woman to woman and asking that you remain neutral. Ethan and I have many things to work out between us, and, I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to.”
“Please do.”
“I’m asking you to stay out of Ethan’s and my business.”
Michaela folded her hands together, squeezing them—an attempt to keep from wrapping them around the woman’s swanlike neck. “You know, Summer, I could actually do that if you hadn’t taken Ethan’s heart and ripped it into shreds. The man would have crawled across broken glass for you. Believe me, I don’t know why, but regardless, he would have, and I supported his and your relationship because he loved you. But, I’m sorry, I can see right past those pretty green eyes and that Pilates body and the graceful airs that you put on. Ethan is a man, after all, and I think we . . .” She pointed to herself and then to Summer. “. . . both know they don’t always think clearly.”
Summer crossed her arms over her crisp button-down. “You have some gall. I may have made mistakes in the past where Ethan is concerned, and I am willing to admit that and make changes. He can see that and forgive me. And, do not forget that Ethan and I are having a baby together, whether you like it or not. If you want to stay in Ethan’s life I would suggest you stay out of mine. In fact, I would go so far as to suggest you support me thoroughly, or you may be sorry. We both know how important family is to Ethan. He would never leave a child, not after what happened to him with his own father.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. I’m not at all. I am only stating facts. You know, I find something fascinating about you.” Summer shook a finger at her. “You’re a very controlling woman. You don’t want your closest friends to be happy because you’ve never been able to have that. It’s not only Ethan I’ve watched you try and control. It’s that ex of yours, and now your friend Camden. I know Kevin Tanner quite well, and he’s told me that you’re negative about your friend dating him. Why is that, Michaela? Maybe you should look at that. Maybe it’s time you let people go, and have your own life. What’s the saying? ‘If you love something, set it free . . .’ and you know what I think about your opinion of me? I think this has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Ethan.”
“What?”
“It’s obvious, Michaela. You’re in love with the father of my child. You’ve been pining for him for years, and it appears that you’ll have to continue to pine. Give up the best friends act. Ethan is mine. Stay out of our lives.”
Michaela’s mouth opened to say something. But nothing came out as she watched the arrogant Summer MacTavish leave her barn. A few seconds later she bolted out of the tack room and yelled at Summer as she climbed into her Cadillac Escalade, which had a decal on the back window that read MACTAVISH SHOW JUMPERS. “I am not a control freak! You are! Look at you! You’ve even gone so far to get knocked up so you can manipulate Ethan! And, I do love him, because he’s my friend, and I refuse to stand by and watch you destroy his life! You bitch!”
Summer slammed her car door and drove away. Michaela went back to her office and thought about the words they’d just exchanged. Why hadn’t she been able to make a quickwitted retort? Comebacks were not usually a problem for her. Instead, her anger had gotten the best of her and the words came out sounding immature, like something from a seedy talk show. God, what had come over her? And now, she couldn’t help wondering if there was any truth to what Summer had said. Was she the controlling type who drove people away? More than that, was there any truth to the idea that she was in love with Ethan?
SEVENTEEN
THERE WAS NO CHOICE FOR MICHAELA BUT TO forget the day. At least for now. She couldn’t let Camden know that she had a gazillion things running through her mind, including thoughts that Camden or her love interest might have wanted to harm her uncle, or that her own father was gambling again and possibly in debt to the mob, or that she suspected someone was trying to frighten her for God only knew what reason, and that there was even a possibility that the person trying to scare her was also her uncle’s killer. Even more than that, she couldn’t confide in her friend that Summer MacTavish was pregnant with Ethan’s baby and that the perfect princess had come by to tell her to buzz off. But worse was the fact that Michaela wasn’t able to ask the woman she’d considered her best friend for a decade now if she did indeed have control issues, and if so, did she push the people she loved away? Normally questions such as these—and honestly, there had never been questions posed for her quite like these—she’d have opened up about them to Camden. For as light-hearted as her pal seemed to be, she also had a good ear and an available shoulder to cry on, plus she’d always been totally fra
nk and honest with her. At least she’d always thought so, and Michaela despised this burning ache inside her that raised doubts about Camden. She hated the thought that all of this could be true, but she really hated that she could even think there was the possibility that any of these thoughts were true.
Michaela was applying some blush when Camden walked into her bathroom, a margarita in one hand and a bag from Saks in the other. She swung the bag back and forth. “Here you go. Let’s get this party started.” She handed the margarita to Michaela.
Michaela set it down on the sink counter. “I think I’ll wait until we get to the bar.”
Camden frowned. “It’s one of my specials. The Cadillac—you know, with a Grand Marnier float on top. Smooth.” She took a step back. “Honey, I know sometimes I can be crass and put on a good game face. I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry. I thought maybe a bit of devil’s brew might help relax you. But if you’re taking it easy, I understand.”
“Thanks.”
“Now give it back to me. Why let it go to waste?” She smiled, but Michaela knew she was only half kidding. “Okay, since you’re not ready for the hard stuff, do me the favor of . . .” She pulled out a black lace camisole, “. . . wearing this. I saw it, and knew it would look absolutely hot on you with a cute pair of tight jeans. You’ll have all eyes on you from the minute you walk in the bar. The men will be fighting over you and the women will want to fight you.”
Michaela looked at the wannabe blouse. Yes, it was cute in a Frederick’s of Hollywood kind of way, and surely it would attract attention, but not the kind she desired. “As pretty as it is, Camden, you know I wouldn’t be comfortable in that. I just can’t.”
“For me? I thought it would be so gorgeous on you. Come on.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but you know how self-conscious I get. Look, I know what you’re trying to do. You want to make me feel better and I am so grateful, but it’s hard enough for me to go out tonight, much less wear something that should really be worn by Pamela Anderson.”
Camden waved a hand at her. “Oh pooh, she’s got nothing on you. But fine, all right. I understand. Maybe someday, my friend, you will realize just how beautiful you are and start dressing like it. Me? I already know I’m hot property and I ain’t afraid to show it. Now, Kevin’s driver will be by in about a half hour. I am so pleased you decided to go with us tonight. Where’s the doc? Hell, he might as well come, too. I figure he’s not going anywhere. I can see it now: You and me in rocking chairs with our margis or one of them mojitos, Ethan nursing sick horses while pushing a walker, while the two of you still try and reconcile the fact that you have feelings for one another.”
“What?”
“I’m just kidding. But face it, Michaela, you two can’t live with or without one another. You’ve both got a bad case of unrequited love gone wrong.”
“That is not true. That is so not true. I’ve known Ethan since I was three years old. I don’t love him and he doesn’t love me, at least not in that way . . . and why do people keep suggesting that I have feelings for Ethan?”
“People?” Camden brought the margarita to her lips, taking a big drink.
Great. She wasn’t going to let this go, was she? No. Not in a million years. But, Michaela knew she couldn’t tell her about her run-in with Summer or that Summer was pregnant. Ethan had made her promise not to tell anyone, and she was going to prove Summer wrong. She could stay out of Ethan’s business and allow him to make his own decisions . . . or in this case, mistakes. But she knew that once she told Camden, the cat would be out of the bag and there would be no going back. “You. I mean, you. This isn’t the first time you’ve made remarks like that, and, well, it’s annoying.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know I was people, and I will work hard to refrain from making any further remarks that simply happen to be the truth. I may be annoying, but I am always honest, and I would never hurt you.” Camden took a step closer to Michaela and reached for her hand. “I love you and you’re my friend. You can always count on me. I’ll see about working on that annoying part of me, once I go and get dressed to the nines, ’cause honey, this lady is getting lucky tonight. Oh, and in case you change your mind about the blouse, I’ll leave it with you.” She winked, let go of her hand, and sauntered away.
Michaela didn’t change her mind and wound up wearing a pair of jeans—comfortable, not tight—a white T-shirt, and a caramel-colored fitted jacket with a pair of high-heeled Charles David boots—one of the few extravagant items in her closet that were the same color as the jacket. She went to her jewelry box and took out a pair of diamond ring hoops. They were another extravagance—one her ex-husband had given her. One she simply could not see fit to toss or sell on eBay, and when it came down to it, she’d been the one to pick them out. Plus, the facts were that she’d footed the bill in the long run. Therefore, technically, the expensive earrings were not from Brad at all, but a self-deserving gift from her damn self!
But the night he’d given them to her—Christmas Eve three years ago, had been so romantic, so sweet—a memory that she wished she could forget because it reminded her that somewhere in Brad was a man who she’d thought had loved her.
That was history, and to learn the reality of what her life had been at that time—nothing but a lie—had allowed her to look at herself and others in a different light. One that at this moment she wasn’t too sure she cared for. She’d become calloused, or at least it felt like it, and there was a part of her that longed for the days when life felt and seemed more simple, when she still had dreams of a family, of the kind of love only seen in the movies or written about in books.
She slid the earrings through the holes in her lobes and stood back. She kind of liked the way she looked tonight. She could actually see the resemblance to Faith Hill that others often mentioned to her, and she was pleased she’d chosen to wear her hair down in loose waves rather than drawn back in her usual ponytail.
“Mick, the car is here,” Camden yelled from the other room.
Car. Jeez. Who did this guy think he was, anyway? For goodness sakes, it wasn’t as if they were all the rage in Beverly Hills headed to The Ivy. Sure there were places in Indio that had plenty of its well-to-do class but there weren’t exactly the Lindsay Lohans and Eva Longorias of the world coming to hang out in their local digs. However, that was Camden. Find the flash and run with it. To Camden that obviously meant Kevin Tanner. Michaela would go along with it for the night, because she was determined to find answers. Answers she hoped Camden’s latest flame would supply.
EIGHTEEN
KEVIN TANNER WAITED INSIDE THE CAR AS THE driver opened the door for the women.
“Oh, my, aren’t you dressed to impress,” Camden remarked.
“Well, you know what they say, when in Rome,” Kevin replied.
Michaela bit her tongue. For a moment she felt like rolling on the ground in laughter, even after her bizarre day and the past forty-eight hours.
Kevin was somewhere between forty and fifty; hard to tell, really. There was a chance that the reason he didn’t have any creases in his forehead was because he’d been to see the plastic surgeon. He had light brown hair that he had to have blow-dried, because the only men she knew with hair as perfect as Kevin were either gay or looked like Kevin did—a wannabe Rico Sauvay. That was Michaela’s name for men who thought they had “it,” but didn’t.
This Mr. Sauvay had “dressed” for the occasion in a western-style maroon shirt with a small navy flower print and oyster-colored snap buttons, tight Wrangler jeans, and what Michaela figured had to be real alligator boots stained the same maroon as his shirt. Yep, if there ever was a cowboy pimp, she was looking right at him. He even had a gigantic silver belt buckle attached to his belt. John Wayne had to be rolling over in his grave. Tonight might actually turn out to be fun. If they did wind up going to Boots and Boogie, the real good old boys there might not welcome Kevin with open arms. In fact, it was quite possible tha
t the contractor would be out on his painted-on Wrangler ass before the night was through.
Saddled with Trouble Page 13