by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair
“Let me also state for the record that I’d like to give you a try before I line up somebody else, so I’m not even going to address that. And contrary to popular belief, I no longer do casual sex either.
“But has it occurred to you that people in a relationship actually help each other? You make a relationship sound like a stint in a North Korean labor camp. Don’t you think I’d do everything I could to help you? I’m fortunate enough to have an obscenely comfortable income, flexible schedule, and a private plane. And wealthy friends, some of whom, I’m sure, either have horses or know people who do. Have you thought about that? I’m an asset.”
She snorted a laugh.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “You thought I was going to stop at ass.”
She looked like hot chocolate was about to spray out of her nose. “Sorry!” She waved her hand, coughing as she regained a modicum of control. “Brandy.”
He took her hand.
“I want to help you. I’m a guy—we like to fix things.” He stepped out onto the tight wire. “Why go back to Florida if you have no clients there?”
She looked at him sharply.
“You’d have three students in California. I hear the dad’s pretty well off.”
She smiled, and he saw how tired she was. She was up late taking care of a sick horse, and on top of that they were having the most heavy-duty discussion they’d ever had. He felt guilty, but he loved being with her, sitting on a hard wooden trunk on a cool night in a barn, of all places. It was one of the best nights he’d ever had.
She spoke. “And then when you and I don’t work out, I’m stuck in a city where I don’t know anyone. Great.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the flat back of it. Her skin was taut and smooth and smelled faintly of hand cream. “Not gonna happen.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “What was that about your last relationship?”
She shifted so she could rest her head against the stall behind them, and he imagined he could see the shadows beneath her eyes deepening. “Oh, that. He was, ironically, my boss. My trainer at a big show barn, and we started dating. I thought he loved me. I guess I got that impression from oh, I don’t know, all the times he said, ‘I love you.’ But somehow I misinterpreted it, because he started hanging out with this woman who was winning everything in sight, and what do you know? I was replaced. He thought she was better for his career, so he started seeing her—without bothering to tell me. I mean, come on, why would he? So I kept thinking we were fine and she was just another client, thinking he was going to propose, because he kept talking about that, too, about our future together. And all the while he was . . . ” She paused and looked away. “With her.”
“So now you want to go to the Olympics to get back at the bastard. Show him he made a mistake.”
“That’s part of it,” she mumbled. “Or it used to be. I don’t care what he thinks anymore.”
Grady took both of her hands in his. “You do realize that he was a major-league ass wipe, right? What man in his right mind would cheat on you, then give you up?”
“Apparently, it’s not all that difficult.”
He heard the residual pain and a muscle across his chest tightened. He wanted to shellac the jerk.
He squeezed her hands and she asked, “How about you? Do you have a first-heartbreak story? Or did you sidestep all that by leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake?”
“That would be Annie.”
“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”
He smiled slightly and squeezed her hands. “Hey. It’s late. Would you please go upstairs so poor Bramble can get some sleep? I’ll stay a little longer and hold his mane for him if he has to throw up.”
She yawned and looked at her watch. “They can’t throw up—that’s why colic is so serious, whatever goes in can only leave one way. And yeah, it’s been long enough. I’m dead.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. Looking at her in the dim light, after having learned more about her in a few hours than he had all summer, she seemed delicate. He’d never have used that word to describe her before. He wanted to scoop her up and tuck her into bed, but knew she’d never let him. Instead, he said, “Go to bed, Mortified. Would you kill me if I kissed you good night?”
She comically narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t try any funny stuff.”
He smiled and stepped into her, and she tilted her head up to look at him.
He said, “I’m sorry about that ass of an ex. And about Courtney.” He settled his hands on her shoulders and rubbed the knobby bones with his thumbs. “That was a shitty thing to have to go through.” He took her hat off and pressed his lips to hers, then closed his eyes and breathed her in. Lingered. She smelled of horses and summer. Straightening, he handed her the hat. He saw that her eyes were filling. She turned away and moved to the foot of the stairs.
Looking at the first step, she said, “Thanks. That was . . . this was . . . nice.”
“My pleasure. You’re something, you know that?”
She gave him one more smile. “Good night,” she said, and trudged up the stairs and into her apartment. Grady watched until she closed the door. He sat on the trunk and sipped his doctored hot chocolate. And smiled.
How could he convince her to come to California? Hell, he’d never felt so . . . what was it? At ease? Yeah, he’d never felt this comfortable with a woman before, which made it sound like she was an old sweatshirt, but he also wanted her like crazy. She was a tough nut, but she’d softened her formidable defenses tonight. And if she was willing to let him in this much, maybe she’d open up a few degrees more next time. Before she knew it, he’d have wormed his way into her heart and it would be too late for her to do anything about it. The Great Wall of China she put up around her heart was getting lower. Soon, he hoped, he could jump it. Clean.
14
Despite the late night on colic duty, Amanda got up on Saturday morning at her usual time without too much trouble. When she opened the door to go down to the barn, she nearly stepped on the yellowish-pink bowling-ball-sized thing on her doorstep. Focusing, she bent down and picked up a beautiful bunch of bananas tied with a pink satin ribbon. There was a small card tied to the stems with a string. The handwritten message was simple: “For your lovely hands.”
“Potassium!” she said aloud, and laughed.
An hour later three staccato knocks on his bedroom door startled Grady from a sound sleep.
“Grady Marcus!” Estelle squawked.
“God,” Grady groaned into his pillow. “Just a minute, Mom.” He swung his legs out of bed and threw on a satin robe, since he slept naked. “Come in.”
He stood in front of the windows, yawning and raking his fingers through his hair as his mother marched to him. It was barely six thirty and she was in full makeup, wearing another flowing silk pantsuit, lavender this time.
“Here.” She held out a mug of coffee. A warning bell went off in his head—his mother was not the bring-coffee-to-her-son-in-the-morning type.
“Morning, Mom. Thanks.” He set the mug on his dresser and padded to his bathroom. “Be right back. Have a seat.” He closed the door.
He returned a minute later. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He sipped his coffee as they stood facing each other in front of the fireplace.
“My grandchildren deserve a mother.”
He gave her a look. Of all the things he suspected she might say, he hadn’t even gone to this aisle of the store.
“You pounded on my door and woke me from a sound sleep for this? Christ, Mom, I thought you had a tumor or something.”
“It’s just as serious. You know it’s true. I did expect more of a disaster—surprisingly, you seem to be doing a fair job—or is that your staff’s doing? That black French girl?”
“Her name’s Jacqueline and you’ve known her for six years.”
“I reiterate. They need a mother.”
“They have a mother. Annie. You never liked her.”
He rolled his eyes. “Mom.”
“Why not? You dated her, not that long ago. You liked her. She’s extremely attractive, has a lovely figure, a fabulous career. She’s in the business, so she understands your life, and she has her own money, so she’s not after yours. I know she’d love to give you more children. And she loves you.”
“How do you know that?”
“A mother’s intuition. And we had the nicest little chat last night while you were . . . where were you?”
“Wave’s horse was sick. Mom, I’m not marrying Priscilla. Why don’t we sit down? You look winded.” He sat in the large, enveloping chairs that faced the fireplace. He liked to read in these chairs, two buttery-leather affairs that regularly rendered him incapable of rising or remaining conscious. He wished he had a book right now and that his mother would go drink her coffee someplace else. Like Bali.
And scratch the book, what he really wanted was Amanda. All soft and warm and curled up on his lap. Naked because she had spent the night with him.
He adjusted his robe.
“I don’t want to sit down.” Estelle stood, head erect. It was like having a giant bald eagle in the room.
“Suit yourself.”
“What about your girls? It’s selfish of you to raise them alone. They need a woman’s touch, a mother who understands them and can help them navigate through the world.”
Grady studied his coffee as his mind flitted back to Amanda telling him about Solstice and her period. Maybe his mother was right. His oldest daughter had gone to Amanda because she was uncomfortable talking to him. Was he depriving them?
Estelle continued. “You know I’m right. You know they need a woman’s influence, and Priscilla would be perfect.”
He was six years old again, getting reprimanded by his mother. Another lecture on how he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t trying hard enough, wasn’t perfect enough. Whether he had dropped a pop-up in Little League or dropped the ball in his childrearing, the message was the same after thirty-five years. She was correcting him after he screwed up. He tried not to let it bother him, but she knew how to push his buttons because she had installed them. Recognizing this, he reminded himself that she wasn’t in charge of him anymore, even though sometimes it sure felt like it.
He looked at her. “You may have a point. May. But I’m not marrying Priscilla just to give them a mother. Call me selfish, but a loveless marriage would be worse than no mother at all.”
“This isn’t about you, this is about my granddaughters. You were in love with your first wife, that Annie person—”
“Mother! That’s enough. She’s not ‘that Annie person.’ No matter what you think of her, she was my wife and a wonderful mother to your grandchildren.”
“All right, all right. My sincere apologies. But as I was saying, you’ve already had your perfect marriage. This marriage is for your children. You can have a successful marriage without being in love.”
Somewhere in his mother’s brain, this all made perfect sense. She wasn’t a mean woman—well, not clean through—but he had learned that she always placed her best interests first. He wasn’t sure how she would benefit from him marrying Priscilla, but he was certain she was working several angles.
She went on. “Please consider it, for their sakes. Especially Solstice—it’s so difficult for a girl to go through her teenage years without a mother.”
He felt a tiny tear in his heart. “Don’t you have to get ready for the party?”
Estelle smiled. “I’m just looking out for my grandchildren. At least someone in this room worries about them.”
She whirled and marched from the room. He said, “Brava, Norma Desmond,” not caring if she heard. He had to hand it to her; she knew how to make an exit.
He rested his head against the chair and blew out a lungful of air. He’d love to believe his mother was a complete loon, but she wasn’t. It would be nicer if his kids had a mother, but it had to be the right person. Amanda was at the top of his list. After last night, at least he knew her objections. All he had to do was help her get her career going again and point her toward the Olympics. How hard could that be? Then he’d pull out all the stops. And she’d have no excuse . . .
That same morning Amanda went about her barn routine, singing and smiling to herself. She’d gotten less than five hours of sleep but felt energized. She kept replaying the night before, especially the kiss. It had taken every molecule of willpower to pull away, and this morning she questioned whether she should have.
And what about Grady suggesting she move to California? Part of her thought he was impossibly presumptuous. A bigger part thought he was absolutely adorable. If he was trying to entice her, this was a nuclear weapon in his seduction toolbox. He had obviously given it a lot of thought, and this realization made her woozy. The fact that she was considering it terrified her.
“Jacqueline, do you have a minute?” Grady leaned against the doorjamb in the doorway to her office as he started on his second cup of coffee after the one his mother had delivered.
“Of course.”
He closed the door and sat down on a chair facing her desk. “I know you have a lot to do today, with the party tonight, but I have a special request. It’s about Amanda. Please don’t tell her—it’s a surprise.” He then gave his impeccably capable assistant one of his more interesting and challenging requests.
Solstice and Wave were so excited about the party they could barely concentrate on their lesson, so Amanda had them play games on horseback to keep their attention. Grady wasn’t taking a lesson, which disappointed her. But she was happy to ride Titanium, and on a day that promised to be extraordinary, she relished the normalcy of riding.
As she trotted the big black gelding in a figure-eight, enjoying his high-kneed, carriage-horse trot, she was startled to see none other than Priscilla Mason picking her way down the hill from the house. Shod in kitten heels that had likely never had any contact with real soil, the blonde crossed the rough grass to the ring.
“Hi.” Amanda trotted up to her and dismounted.
“Hi,” Priscilla said, sounding like she had just smoked an entire carton of unfiltered cigarettes. She looked the slightest bit un-perfect, with gray circles under her eyes that makeup hadn’t completely concealed. “This is for you.” She held out a small Tiffany-blue bag.
“What’s this for?” Amanda was sincerely confused.
“For the other night. You know, at the restaurant when I made a fool of myself. It’s a thank-you gift.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Neither did you. Open it.”
“It was nothing. You didn’t mean to—”
“I was an embarrassing mess. If you don’t take this, I’m dropping it on the ground right here.”
Amanda took the bag, removed the small box in the same iconic color, and untied the white satin ribbon. She opened it and took out a tiny flannel envelope. Inside was an exquisite pair of sterling silver Frank Gehry earrings. She loved them immediately.
“Oh my. They’re beautiful, but I can’t accept them.” She started to put them back in the little bag.
“Keep them. You deserve a medal for what you did for me.”
“Seriously, Priscilla, I can’t—”
“Just hush up and keep them, okay? I was out of control and you . . . you were a friend when I needed one.”
Amanda looked at her, and any remaining jealousy melted away, or at least stepped aside. “Okay.” She smiled. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it; I have a ton of those earrings. They’re cute, aren’t they? I keep them around for just this kind of occasion, when I need to give someone a little gift.”
That must be what it was like to be a rich celebrity. You kept stockpiles of trinkets for your underlings.
Priscilla continued, “In your line of work, you need all the femini
ne accents you can get. I bet half the time, people think you’re a man. You have to wear those jodhpurs, and those hats. And be dirty all the time. I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s a living,” Amanda said.
“You know what?” Priscilla said. “I’ll give you my stylist’s number. She can do miracles. I’ll go get it right now so I won’t forget. Bye!” She flounced off as best she could in her kitten heels.
Amanda looked at the coating of dust on her breeches and smear of green slime on her sleeve. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about being too attractive to Grady now that Priscilla had set her straight.
“Girlfriend, I swear there’s something wrong with you on a cellular level,” Harris said as he expertly brushed smoky eye shadow across Amanda’s lids in preparation for the party.
“Because I didn’t sleep with him?”
Harris was in Amanda’s apartment and had yet to break out in hives. The moment he’d arrived, she’d thrust a flute of chilled champagne at him, which undoubtedly helped. She also made sure she had the baseball game on, since the Giants, Harris’s favorite team, were playing. Anything to keep him happy, because an unhappy Harris could result in a scary-looking Amanda. Digging into a huge makeup case he’d borrowed from a professional makeup artist friend, he frowned in concentration as he dabbed, stroked, and blended colors onto her face.
“You are officially infuriating, princess.” He sipped champagne. “Seeing as how you’re being insanely ridiculous, I feel that as your friend—and Grady’s BFF—I should inform you that he has had exactly one marriage, two serious relationships, and probably half a dozen minor girlfriends. What I’m trying to point out to you with a sledgehammer is he doesn’t get this way. He doesn’t dream about women, he doesn’t make gallons of tea for them, he doesn’t have heart-to-hearts late at night in drafty old barns—”
“The barn is new, and hardly drafty.”
“Read my well-conditioned, supple lips. He. Likes. You.”