“My family has to agree,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t feel right making a decision like this without their okay.” He stopped and looked at her. “I don’t want to waste your time, so I feel I should warn you that it isn’t going to happen.”
“Because of your mother and sisters?”
“No. I’ll be the one dragging my feet.” He frowned. “I really don’t remember making an appointment with you. I must have been completely focused on something else.”
Whitney refused to feel discouraged. “After I present the offer we can go over the pros and cons.”
Gabe continued to look at her. “Fair enough,” he said after a minute. “We have guest rooms. You’re welcome to stay.”
“Your mother has already offered me food and a bed, even after she found out I wasn’t from Matchmaker.com.”
He winced. “Good God. I hope not.”
Whitney stopped. “That wasn’t very complimentary.”
He looked at her, taking in the woman’s wheat-colored hair, clear eyes and spiky dark lashes, her long, long legs and the finely drawn features sprayed with a light sprinkling of pale freckles across her cheekbones. “Somehow, I don’t believe you’ll be shattered if I don’t compliment you,” he said dryly.
She swallowed. The camaraderie was broken. For a minute she’d almost thought—Whitney straightened her shoulders. It didn’t matter what she thought. She was here for professional reasons, and nothing more.
Five
“Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner?” Gabe asked. “There’s always plenty of food.”
“No, thank you.” Whitney pulled the car key from her purse and unlocked the door. “I’d like to settle into my hotel room and look over a few things. I’ll phone you tomorrow and we can discuss when would be a good time to meet with all of you.”
“Fair enough. Any time after nine would be good.”
Gabe stepped back and watched her back out of the driveway. She waved and would have moved forward, but he motioned her to stop. She rolled down the window. “What is it?”
“Your right rear tire is flat.”
She groaned. “What next?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll change it for you and you can be on your way in fifteen minutes, tops.”
“Are you sure? I can call the rental company.”
“It’s after five. The only location open is at the airport. It’s no trouble. Pop the trunk and we’ll see what we’ve got.”
She climbed out of the car and walked to where he stood. “I really appreciate this.”
“It’s the least I can do, except—” He set her bags on the ground and pulled up the vinyl backing on the floor of the trunk and ran his hands over the entire area. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“You don’t have a spare.”
“That’s impossible,” she said flatly.
He gestured toward the empty trunk and stepped aside.
Whitney stared at the pristine emptiness and lifted a hand to rub her forehead. “I don’t believe this is happening.”
Gabe closed the trunk and picked up her bags. “What you need is a drink, one of my mother’s spectacular meals and a good night’s rest, all of which you’ll find right here. Follow me.”
Whitney watched helplessly as he carried her bags up the porch steps and into the house. What was the matter with her? She was behaving completely unlike herself. Why didn’t she take charge, demand that he leave her bags where they were and insist on calling a taxi? She looked down at her shoes. They were her favorite, Louis Vuittons, beautifully crafted and undeniably ruined beyond repair. Taking a long, deep breath, she followed Gabe into the house.
It was mid-April and warm enough to eat outside. Whitney, completely recovered after a shower and a glass of wine, was dressed comfortably in loose pants, sandals and a rose silk blouse with wide, floppy cuffs. Making her way downstairs, she marveled at the weather, the patio sparkling with tiny white lights, the hanging plants, gold placemats. The table was set with rust-colored cloth napkins, gleaming silver, sparkling goblets, and she caught the heady, delicious smells of roasting meat, cinnamon, coffee and other spices she couldn’t identify.
She followed her nose to the kitchen. Mercedes was sprinkling something green over a platter of chicken. “May I help you?” she asked.
“I hoped someone would show up,” the woman said. She held out the chicken. “You can carry the food to the table and fill the water goblets. Gabriel should be down in a minute. I don’t know where the children are. They always disappear until I’ve finished cooking.”
Whitney laughed. “That isn’t unusual. I did the same thing when I was their age.”
Mercedes looked at her. “Can you cook?”
Whitney thought a minute. “I’m not sure. I don’t very often. It’s not really worth cooking for one person.”
“Gabriel needs someone who can cook,” his mother said.
“That,” said Gabriel from the door, “won’t interest Ms. Benedict at all, Ma.”
Whitney didn’t react. “Please call me Whitney,” she said, bypassing him with the platter of food. “‘Ms. Benedict’ reminds me of my mother.”
Gabriel picked up the bowl of salad and followed her to the patio. “You wouldn’t happen to be affiliated with Whitney Downs, Boone Benedict’s Thoroughbred farm in Kentucky, would you?”
“I grew up there, but it belongs to my parents. Boone is my father. My specialty is international law. I have nothing to do with the farm anymore.”
“Do you have a big family?”
Her fingers closed over the back of a chair. “I’m an only child.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you have something against horses, Whitney?”
She frowned. “What an odd question. Of course I don’t. I’m very fond of horses, but not enough to make them my life. I wanted something different for myself. I like the freedom of my work.”
“Freedom?” His forehead wrinkled. “I’m curious. Would you mind explaining that?”
“Not at all.” Her words were spoken crisply and clearly, as if she’d practiced her reply. “When I feel like it, I can arrange my schedule to take a vacation without worrying about the feeding and care of my animals. I’m not awakened in the middle of the night because a horse has colic and needs a vet. I’m not out of pocket thousands of dollars because the horse I’d counted on winning has broken a leg or, after I’ve spent even more thousands of dollars in stud fees, one of my mares gives birth to a stillborn foal, and more recently, I haven’t gone nearly bankrupt because of an epidemic that’s wiped out an entire generation of Kentucky Thoroughbreds.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “You know something about horses, don’t you?”
“A bit.”
He pulled a book of matches from his pocket and lit the candles on the table. “I wonder why you’re so bitter.”
She ignored his comment and changed the subject. “Is this all for me, or do you eat like this every night?”
“My mother believes in making meals worthwhile. We don’t always eat on the patio, but it’s usually quite a spread.”
“How fortunate for you to be able to sit down every day to such beautifully presented, wonderful food.”
Gabe grinned. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t really mean that?”
Whitney lifted her chin. She refused to be trumped by a horse breeder from California. “When will you be contacting your sisters?”
“Tonight, after dinner.” He looked directly at her. “Just for the record, I’ll say it again. I have no intention of giving up my horses. They aren’t for sale and I don’t like wasting your time.”
“I don’t consider being here a waste of time,” she said coolly. “No matter what happens with the offer, I’ve enjoyed meeting your mother, staying in your lovely home and sharing your hospitality.”
“Are you ever ungracious?”
She looked startled for a minute, then she l
aughed. “I’m southern, Gabriel. We’re bred and raised on graciousness, no matter what the circumstances.”
They were interrupted by Mercedes shouting from somewhere down the hall. “Eric, Emma, Claire, dinner’s ready. Wash your hands.”
Gabe’s eyes met Whitney’s. They both laughed. “You won’t find a lot of gentility here at the hacienda,” he warned her.
The children filed onto the patio with Mercedes behind them. They glanced, surreptitiously, at Whitney. After they were seated, Gabe introduced them. “Whitney Benedict, these are my children, Eric, Emma and you already know Claire.”
“Hello,” Whitney said politely.
“Hi,” said Eric.
Emma stared at her throat. “Your jewelry’s cool. Where did you get it?”
Whitney’s hand moved to the aquamarine at her neck. “Thank you. It’s a gift from my mother. I don’t remember where she got it. I can ask, if you’d like.”
Emma shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“So,” Eric said politely. “Dad says you’re from Kentucky.”
“That’s right. Have you been there?”
Emma snorted. “Hardly. Who’d want to go to Kentucky?”
“Emma,” Gabriel admonished her. “That isn’t polite.”
Whitney ignored him and addressed the sullen teenager. “Sometimes I agree with you, Emma. Kentucky isn’t the most exciting place in the world. I like it, but I was born there and my family lives there. I imagine it wouldn’t do for a Californian.”
“Whitney is a lawyer,” Mercedes announced. “She’s here to talk to your dad about the horses.”
“What kind of lawyer?” Eric asked.
Whitney swallowed a forkful of salad before answering. She wasn’t sure how much Gabriel would want her to reveal. “I specialize in international law.”
Eric looked at his father. “Is this the Austrian thing?”
Gabe nodded.
Whitney was confused. She looked at Gabriel.
“This isn’t the first time Austria’s made an offer for my horses,” he explained. “Usually, they send polite letters which I ignore. You’re the first person they’ve actually sent. It won’t make a difference.”
“What are you talking about?” Emma asked.
“The Austrian government wants to buy the Lipizzaners, the ones whose bloodlines go back directly to those my father brought from Austria, from the famous riding school,” Gabriel explained.
“Why? Don’t they have their own horses?”
“I’m not sure why.” Gabe looked at Whitney. “Do you happen to know why they’re so persistent?”
“Not really,” she replied. “It’s possiblé they take the defection of the horses very seriously and want to reclaim what they consider belongs to them.”
“Now, wait a minute!” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed to blue lines in the brown planes of his face. “My father rescued those horses at the request of the Austrian government with specific instructions to return with them if Germany won the war. If they didn’t, he was to stay here. They didn’t and he did. Hell, he did more than that. He kept the line pure. He trained the horses and he passed his skill and knowledge down to me.”
“Calm down, mijito,” his mother said. “Don’t kill the messenger. You asked her a question. She answered it. Relax. Have a little wine. Enjoy this marvelous food that I have prepared for you.”
Some of the tension left Gabriel’s face. “My mother’s right. I apologize.”
Whitney smiled. “Apology accepted.”
Emma stood and leaned across the table for the salsa.
Mercedes frowned. “Emma, we have a guest. Don’t forget your manners.”
Emma ignored her. “Is the Austrian government rich?” she asked Whitney.
“Probably. Why do you ask?”
“How much will Dad get for the horses?”
The child was incorrigible. Whitney was quite sure she had never met anyone with such awful manners. “I imagine he’ll get what they’re worth,” she hedged.
“It’s none of your business what they’re offering,” Eric spoke up. “Dad isn’t selling.”
“What if it’s lots of money?” Emma replied. “We never have enough money. Maybe this would solve all our problems.”
“That’s enough, Emma,” Gabe said. “Some things have nothing to do with money.”
“Everything’s about money,” the girl persisted. “You wouldn’t be grouchy if we had enough. Gran wouldn’t have to rent out rooms in this house.” Her cheeks were darkening as she spoke. “Mom would still be here if we had money instead of this stupid horse farm.”
Claire, who hadn’t said a word for the entire meal, looked up nervously. Whitney’s heart ached for her. How could these two children be related? She would have given up a considerable percentage of her fee to have a look at Gabriel’s ex-wife.
Mercedes frowned. “Emma is our drama queen. We believe she has great potential.”
“I’m sure she does,” Whitney said softly. “I agree with you in part, Emma.”
The girl’s black-rimmed eyes widened. “You do?”
“Yes.” Whitney helped herself to more chicken, added salsa and wrapped both in a corn tortilla. “Life is easier when you have money,” she said between bites. “It cushions a great deal of unpleasantness, but there are some things it can’t do.”
“I know what you’re going to say,” the girl said scathingly. “Money can’t buy happiness.”
“On the contrary, it buys a great deal of happiness.” Whitney was conscious of five pairs of eyes assessing her. She focused on Emma. “What it can’t buy is health or youth or life. It can’t make people love you, although some would disagree with me, and sometimes, too much of it destroys motivation.”
“I bet you have lots of money.”
Whitney considered her answer. “I’m certainly not wealthy, but I have enough to keep me happy. What I’m most proud of is that I’ve earned it myself. No one gave it to me. In fact, I’ve worked hard all my life. Everyone does on a breeding farm. You probably already know that.” She could see that the girl was losing interest. “This is delicious,” she said to Mercedes. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a better meal. Thanks so much for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome.” Mercedes looked at Whitney’s plate approvingly. “You’ve a healthy appetite for a small girl. That’s good. I don’t go for all this carbohydrate- diet nonsense.”
Gabriel cleared his throat. “I’ll bring out the coffee.”
Mercedes waited until he was gone. She looked around the table making eye contact with each of the children. “Don’t bother with the dishes tonight. I’ll do them. Go upstairs and finish your homework.”
“That’s okay, Gran,” Eric said. “We don’t mind. Do we, Emma?” He looked at his younger sister. “Claire, how about it?”
“Speak for yourself, Eric-the-perfect,” replied Emma. “I don’t want to do dishes. Gran wants to do us a favor. Why can’t you just say thank you?”
“Gran works hard all day.”
“And we don’t?” his sister countered.
Claire remained silent.
“Go on, children. Stop arguing.” Mercedes waved them away. “I want to talk with Whitney for a while.”
Eric looked unconvinced. “We could help you, Gran. I feel bad about this.”
Mercedes reached over to pull his shaggy head down and kissed his forehead. “You’re a good boy, Eric.” She looked darkly at Emma. “You could learn something from your brother.”
Emma ignored her and flounced from the room. Reluctantly, Eric followed. Claire didn’t move.
Mercedes spoke to her. “Come here, my baby, and give your grandma a kiss.”
Obediently, the little girl left her seat and walked around the table. She stood beside Mercedes. The woman kissed her cheek softly. “Run along now. I’ll be up to see you later.”
“You mentioned earlier that Claire has problems. May I ask what’s wrong with her?” Whitney ask
ed when they were alone.
“She’s always been that way,” Mercedes answered. “It’s called Asberger’s syndrome. You’ve heard of it? No?”
Whitney had heard of it. She couldn’t reconcile Gabriel’s beautiful little girl with that terrifying condition. “Is she in school?”
“She has a home teacher. A regular classroom didn’t work for her. Her disease isn’t severe, but there are times when she can’t be with others.”
“I’m so sorry. She seems normal. I didn’t realize.”
Mercedes nodded. “It’s very sad. Kristen couldn’t deal with her. Gabriel says no, but I believe it’s the reason she left.”
Whitney was silent. There was nothing left to say. Her mind, attuned to succinctly sizing up a situation, had assessed this family—Eric, the pleaser; Emma, the rebel; Claire, cut off from her emotions; Mercedes, the instigator; and Gabriel—Gabriel was the most troubled. It didn’t take a genius to figure out exactly why. The responsibility of three children without a mother and a business that was obviously just making ends meet would be enough to send anyone over the edge. All of which should further her cause.
“Let’s go into the living room,” Mercedes suggested. “It’s chilly and I’d like to ask you something.”
They settled opposite each other, Mercedes in the chair-and-a-half and Whitney on the couch.
The older woman didn’t waste any time. “This offer must be very important to have sent you here.”
“It is important. I think it will be very good for all of you if you accept.”
Mercedes nodded. “It affects our lives, Gabriel’s most of all.”
“He told me that you and his sisters have an interest in the business.”
Mercedes waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “Gabriel makes all the decisions. He always has. The girls have their own lives. They have little interest in horses. Whatever Gabriel wants is the way it will be.” “
Why do I have the feeling that I’m missing something?”
Mercedes nodded. She lowered her chin to her chest and thought a minute. “Is the Austrian offer a good one?”
“Very good.”
The Lavender Field Page 6