Whitney frowned. “What does that mean?”
Pryor laughed. “My darling girl. You are an extremely efficient, matter-of-fact young woman with one of the most organized minds I’ve ever been privileged to know. In California, you sounded scattered. You couldn’t tell me when you were coming home. You had no answers when I asked you about the progress of the offer for which your firm sent you in the first place, and all you talked about with any rationality at all was that child’s condition, which I can’t remember the name of right now.”
“Asberger’s,” Whitney replied. “Claire has Asberger’s syndrome. I’m sorry I worried you, Mama.”
“To tell you the truth, Whitney, at first I was worried, but when I really thought about it, I was relieved, too.”
“Relieved?”
“Yes. For the first time you sounded so...so... normal. It’s normal to care about things outside of your job.”
“Is that what you think? That all I care about is my job?”
Pryor nodded. “I have a confession to make. Sometimes, I feel incompetent around you and I wonder if you see me that way, too.”
Whitney stared at her mother. “Never once has that crossed my mind.”
Pryor sighed. “Thank goodness. You have no idea how relieved I am.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Why are you so involved with those people? I was worried that you’d been brainwashed by some California cult.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It happens, Whitney.”
“Not to me. You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did, until now.”
Whitney’s scowl took thirty years off her age. Pryor was reminded of the stubborn little girl with scraped knees and tangled hair who’d thrown herself into her arms and sobbed when her friends, tired of her unrelenting domination, requested that she go home. She bit back a smile. Now was not the time for reminiscing.
“Clearly, I haven’t been taken in by a cult,” Whitney said wearily.
“I realize that now and I realize something else, as well.”
“What’s that?”
“There isn’t a darn thing I could do about it if you were.”
Whitney laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit such a thing.”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
“If you must.”
“Will you be honest with me?”
“I’ll try.”
“I think you’re involved with Gabriel Mendoza.”
Whitney stared at her.
“Am I right?”
“No.”
Gray eyes met gray. The space between them sizzled with tension.
“I am not involved with Gabriel Mendoza,” Whitney repeated.
“Would you like to be?”
Whitney hesitated.
Pryor wagged her finger at her daughter. “You said you would try.”
“Oh, all right.” Whitney set down her cup. “I’m attracted to him. He’s intelligent, unassuming and hard working. He’s also very unusual.”
“He lives in California and he has three children,” Pryor reminded her.
Whitney sighed. “I know. I thought that being there in the middle of his family would help me decide if I could handle it.”
“And?”
“And, nothing. I was too busy to really get to know him. Besides, I went to California in a professional capacity. It would have been unethical to make it personal.”
Pryor’s eyes widened. “So you came home, just like that.”
“Not exactly. I’ll know more as soon as I get this offer sewn up. I’m beginning to believe it might not happen. Gabriel doesn’t want to sell his horses.”
“Why not?”
“It has something to do with his father.” She shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure out what kind of man turns down millions of dollars to keep a legacy alive.”
“Maybe that’s his allure for you.”
“Maybe.” She looked at her mother. “I thought you wanted me to get married to someone with prospects.”
“Of course I do.”
“But?”
“Are we talking marriage, Whitney? Can you really think seriously about this man given all of his obligations and the geographical distance between you? Money isn’t everything, you know. In fact, if there’s too great a disparity in what each partner brings to a marriage, that can cause problems, too. You can’t be thinking of relocating to California!”
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m confused. How will I ever know if I rule him out immediately?”
“Sweetheart.” Pryor took Whitney’s hands in her own. “This isn’t something to try out, not with a man like Gabriel Mendoza. Think about this. His children are vulnerable. The very fact that he has them, and his ex- wife doesn’t, says a great deal. He’s been hurt. This isn’t your ordinary corporate type whose profile has been matched up with yours, and forty others, in some vague Internet database. This is a good man with three children and a widowed mother. I’m sure the family is lovely, but they won’t be if you play with him.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair or not, it’s an accurate assessment of the situation,” Pryor said flatly. “You don’t have to admit it to me, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll know what to do.”
Whitney changed the subject. “I have to go home and think of what I’m going to tell Everett tomorrow. He won’t be pleased.” She stood and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m leaving now. Sleep well.”
“Whitney?”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t that involved with Gabriel, are you? I mean—that is—you haven’t...” She left the sentence unfinished.
For an instant, Whitney was confused. Then she understood. “No, of course not. This isn’t a movie. I was there two weeks and we were surrounded by children.”
Pryor held her glance for a long minute. Satisfied, she stood. “Daddy and I will walk you to your car.”
Inside the door of her town house, she dropped her bags in the entry and switched on lights as she moved from room to room. The button on her answer machine blinked demandingly. The number to the right indicated thirty-four messages. She pressed the button and walked back to her suitcases, where she rummaged in her carry-on for the bottle of wine she’d brought back with her. It was the same wine Gabriel had chosen on their one and only date.
Suddenly his voice was in the room with her, on the tape. Snapping into attention mode, she ran back into the kitchen, stopped the tape and rewound it. “Hello, Whitney. It’s Gabe. Obviously, you’re not home yet, but I couldn’t wait any longer. This place feels strange without you. What a difference two weeks makes.” He laughed. “I hope your flight went well.” He paused for a minute. “No pressure, but I’d sure like to hear from you. Take care.”
Her cheeks burned. She listened to the message once again, and then again after she’d poured herself a glass of wine. What did it mean? How much did it mean? He’d stepped out on a limb calling her so soon. He deserved to be called back immediately. She wanted to call him. She’d planned on calling him in a day or two, even if he hadn’t called her. But once she did, once she continued the connection, she knew there was only one way to move, and that was irrevocably forward. Women her age were either serious about finding someone or they removed themselves from the game. Which was she? What did she want?
Her mother was right. Gabriel had gone through enough. He wasn’t a man to be toyed with. A return call would mean she understood and accepted the rules. It meant she was in for the duration. In California, her mind had been so clearly made up. The pull of his family and all that she was missing was strong. The idea of such a commitment and all that it entailed was terrifying.
Whitney mulled over her mother’s words. Now she wasn’t at all clear. To call or not to call, that was the question. How appropriate that Shakespeare should come to mind when she thought of Gabe.
Mercedes washed her hands in the kitchen s
ink and smiled at Claire, who stood beside her. “Mijita, go into the pantry for your grandma and see if the avocados are ripe. I want to make some guacamole for your daddy.”
“For me, too?”
Mercedes looked surprised. “You don’t like guacamole.”
The little girl tilted her head. “Yes, I do.”
“All right. I’ll make some for you, too. Bring three avocados. That should be enough.”
Obediently, Claire opened the pantry door and disappeared inside. Soon she was back with three soft black avocados. “Here.” She handed them to her grandmother.
“Do you want to help me?” Mercedes asked.
Claire nodded.
“First, find a glass bowl. I’ll cut and peel and you can mash.”
“I like mashing,” Claire said slowly.
Mercedes slid a knife into the dark skin, cutting through the buttery flesh and severing the fruit in half. Then she scraped the yellow insides into the bowl. “Now,” she said, “it’s your turn.”
Carefully, Claire pressed the tines of her fork into the meat until it oozed out from under the metal.
“Good,” Mercedes encouraged her. “Keep doing that until it’s smooth. Then we’ll add jalapenos and lemon.” With the tip of her tongue curling against the corner of her mouth, Claire continued her task while her grandmother squeezed the juice from a lemon, chopped the chili pepper and added both to the mixing bowl.
“There now,” she said. “A little salt and pepper and we have the best guacamole there is.”
Claire dipped a tentative finger into the mix and tasted it. She nodded solemnly. “Daddy will like it.”
“Yes, he will.”
Claire frowned. “Gran? Why did Whitney go away?”
“Do you miss her, mijita?”
Claire nodded.
Sitting down heavily, Mercedes pulled the little girl onto her lap. “Whitney had to go home. She lives in Kentucky.”
“Will she come back?”
Mercedes looked down into the fragile, earnest face of Gabriel’s daughter and wondered which answer would be the least damaging. “Maybe,” she said. “In fact, I think it might be quite possible, but I can’t say for sure.” A thought occurred to her. “Do you want her to come back?”
Claire nodded.
“You must like her very much.”
Again Claire nodded. “She took me to ride Lorelei and she played with me on the swing set.” She met her grandmother’s black eyes. “I don’t feel different with her, Gran. Everybody else makes me feel different.”
Mercedes pulled her into a fierce hug. “I know, mijita, I know.” Once, in another lifetime, someone she couldn’t remember told her that grandchildren were all joy and no worry. All pleasure and no pain, she’d said. The woman was a fool.
Twenty-Three
Gabe struggled to keep his roiling emotions from showing on his face. The retainer alone wasn’t impossible, but the rest of it... His hand shook as he removed his checkbook from the inside of his coat pocket.
Adam Winchester, Ventura County’s family law expert, leaned back in his leather chair. His unruly gray eyebrows, thick neck and craggy face reminded Gabe of a mountain man rather than a high-powered attorney. “I’m sorry, Gabe. This will be tough on you.”
“It was inevitable,” Gabriel said briefly. “I can pay you the retainer upfront, but as for the rest of it, you’ll have to bill me. I’ll do the best I can.” He looked across the enormous desk at the wily old lawyer. “I’m good for every penny of your money. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
Gabe nodded, satisfied.
“Why don’t you go home and think about this before you pay me anything,” the lawyer suggested.
“What’s the point? I have no choice.”
Winchester leaned forward. “Actually, you do.”
“How?”
“The money that will go to your ex-wife is a given. We don’t even have to litigate. In California, spousal and child support are formulas. Other than that, Kristen has no claim to your business. The trust was set up so she can’t benefit from any proceeds should your family sell it. I’ll be completely honest with you, Gabe. I believe we can win with your own daughter, but the custody case regarding your stepchildren is a lost cause. You won’t get them and you’ll piss away a fortune in legal fees in the process.”
A thin white line appeared around Gabriel’s mouth. “I have to try,” he said, his voice low.
“Take my advice. Work this out with your ex-wife outside the courtroom. It’s in both of your interests.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“There is another alternative.”
Gabe’s eyes lit up with a wary hope. “What’s that?”
“You could give her a substantial sum of money and absolve her of child support. Agree to lenient visitation with no responsibility on her part. In other words, you share custody and pay for everything, and then some.”
Gabriel laughed. “I’ll definitely think about that.” He laid the check on the desk. “Meanwhile, take this.”
Winchester rose and held out his hand. “I’ll give it my best.”
Gabe shook it and nodded. “I’m counting on that.” Alone, in the elevator, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d never felt such overwhelming despair. He couldn’t face going home, not yet, when he was still raw and reeling from the money he’d spent and the sad prospect that it probably wouldn’t do anything for him.
In his idealistic youth, he’d never once considered a career in law, or any other money-making endeavor. Now that choice amazed him. Why hadn’t someone warned him just how much adulthood cost? High schools should have classes that included job hunting and money managing. Holding down a job wasn’t enough. Teenagers should have ninety percent of their net income withheld so that real life, whenever it happened, wasn’t such a shock.
Outside, the noonday sun was hot on his bare head. Slipping on his sunglasses, he turned down the busier side of the street, hoping for a sidewalk café that wasn’t too crowded. Intent on his mission, he would have missed the small, red-haired woman walking past him if she hadn’t turned around, given him a second glance and called out his name.
He recognized her voice immediately. Turning, he forced a smile. “Shelly. How are you?”
“I’m great. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
“I had an appointment,” he said. “What about you?”
She pointed to a glass-front commercial space across the street. “That’s my office. I was heading out to lunch. Will you join me? My treat. You owe me one,” she said before he could refuse.
He hesitated.
“C’mon, Gabe,” she coaxed him. “You have to eat.”
He smiled. “I’d love to have lunch with you, Shelly, and I do owe you. Lunch is on me.”
She relaxed. “How about Russell’s? They have about everything anyone could want.”
Gabe didn’t care what he ate. All he wanted was to get through this, find his car and drive home, alone.
Shelly chattered away beside him, apparently not requiring a response, which was preferable to a real conversatlon where he had to think and pay attention. The restaurant was at the end of the block. There was no outside seating, but the hostess found them a table by the window.
“I’ll have iced tea and a barbecue chicken salad,” Shelly said to the waitress.
Gabe closed his menu. “I’ll have the same.”
“So,” Shelly said when they were alone, “what appointment brought you downtown?”
He drained his water glass and avoided her eyes. “A legal matter.”
She studied his face for a minute and then changed the subject. “I was out to see Miss Mollie early this morning. I think she’ll be ready to advance a level in the Santa Barbara show. What do you think?”
Grateful for her tact, he answered honestly. “I think you need a little more experie
nce. You might be okay, but why risk it?”
“Why not?” she asked. “What do I have to lose?”
“Confidence.”
She laughed. “I’ve got plenty of that. One bad set of scores won’t faze me.”
He stared at her, realizing that what she said was true. Shelly Sims was a woman who took chances, rolled with the punches and didn’t take setbacks personally. Her line of work required it. Was she born with the ability to shrug things off, or had she acquired the talent along the way? “Does anything throw you?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. “I’m assuming you don’t mean literally.”
He shook his head. “You know what I’m talking about. Frankly, I’d like some of your attitude.”
“I’m flattered.”
“How do you do it?”
A flush rose in her cheeks. She twisted her water glass around on the table with perfectly manicured fingers. He noticed that her nails were squared off with those whiter-than-white tips that looked like bleached bone. “I don’t have as much at stake as you do,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not married and I have no children. I don’t have to weigh decisions all that carefully. If I end up destitute, I won’t be taking anyone down with me.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“To a degree,” she acknowledged, “but not entirely.”
The waitress set their salads in front of them.
Gabriel picked up his fork, suddenly hungry. He didn’t want Shelly Sim’s solitary life, but he didn’t want his own, either. Surely there was something in the middle. Once, he thought he had it. Then Kristen left.
“How long have you been divorced?”
Her question startled him. “Legally, about six months, but we’ve been apart nearly two years.”
“What happened?”
Gabe wasn’t a proponent of full disclosure, especially when it came to personal information. He was about to suggest another topic of conversation when it occurred to him that this might be the first step toward desensitizing himself to the bleaker aspects of his situation. “She left me,” he admitted. “It came out of the blue. I didn’t even know she was unhappy.”
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