Gabe kept his expression blank.
“Oh, sure, hon. I understand. I’ll send him on his way.” Boone replaced the phone. “She wants to meet you at her office. Apparently she has plans for the two of you to have dinner out.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about the time. I guess I got carried away. You go on now. I’ll break the news to Pryor.”
Gabe rose. “I’ll tell your wife and the girls that I’m leaving.”
Thirty minutes later he pulled into an underground parking lot in Lexington, locked the car and ran up the ramp to the elevator. The doors opened to an opulent lobby with a hunter-green carpet, a marble counter and a polished mahogany desk. It was empty. Several hallways branched from the lobby, like spokes in a wheel. There was nowhere to sit.
Unsure of what to do next, Gabe chose one of the hallways and wandered through it, reading the names on the doors as he walked. So far, none of the offices appeared to belong to Whitney.
“Are you looking for me?” Her voice, low and perfectly pitched, called out from behind him.
He turned and smiled. She looked exactly as she had the first day she showed up in his yard, with her mile- long legs, straight wheat-colored hair and business attire. He swallowed.
“Hi,” she said.
He walked toward her. It was late. He hoped no one else was in the office, but it made no difference. He wasn’t going to spend another minute without holding Whitney Benedict in his arms.
She came easily, willingly, as if she knew his intent and it matched her own. He was conscious of the scent of her, fresh, crisp, citrusy, definitely not floral. Whitney would never be floral.
All coherent thought left him when her mouth met his and opened. He sank into a well of sensation, softness under his lips, smoothness under his fingers, heat rising in his chest and down through his groin. He deepened his kiss. A low moan sounded in the back of her throat. She pushed against his chest. Reluctantly, he lifted his head.
Her cheeks flamed and she stepped back, out of his arms. Her voice was air-filled, breathy. “That was quite a welcome.”
“I missed you.”
“Obviously.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
He relaxed. She didn’t play games. It was one of the qualities that attracted him. “Sorry I’m late.”
She laughed. “I know what it’s like trying to get away from either of my parents. I can’t blame you.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “For food?”
She blushed. “Yes,” she said again. “That, too. I made reservations at one of my favorite restaurants. It’s not fancy, but the food is delicious. I hope you like ribs and French fries.”
“I do.”
She linked her arm through his. “This place makes the best barbecue sauce you’ve ever eaten. It also has a pretty good wine list. I remember that you know something about wine.”
Gabe didn’t tell her that tonight her favorite restaurant would be wasted on him. All he wanted to do was touch her and look at her, in that order. Later, maybe, food would matter to him again. “Lead the way,” he said instead.
Twenty-Six
The restaurant offered the kind of local, down-home food that Whitney loved. It was informal enough for patrons to feel comfortable, but upscale, too, so that it had a full bar and a decent wine list. The hostess led them to a corner table, covered in a red-and-white checked cloth.
“Tell me what you think of Kentucky,” she said, after they were settled with a bottle of French Burgundy and a basket of squaw bread. She looked at him hungrily, paying careful attention to the tiny details that took him from good-looking to unique: the tight pull of skin over the blades of his cheeks, the square of his chin, the arched bridge of his nose, that olive skin paired with slate-blue eyes and the flashing white of his smile. Conscious that she was staring, she looked away.
“Kentucky’s clean,” he said, “easy to navigate and incredibly green. This really is horse country.”
She nodded, forcing herself to focus. “Yes, it is.”
“Whitney Downs is quite a place.” He grinned. “I like your dad. He’s a character. He reminds me of my mother.”
The clear, rain-colored eyes widened in surprise. “Really? In what way?”
“What you see is what you get.”
She laughed. “That’s true.”
“Your mother’s great, too.”
Whitney frowned. “My mother’s terrific. She really is, but she’s different.” She hesitated. “She’s more demanding than my dad.”
“Why do you say that?”
She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever been so tuned into her. He was truly interested, not just making conversation. He deserved a careful answer. “She doesn’t take disappointment well, and if she senses defeat, she becomes relentless until she gets her way. And yet, everything she does, she does for me.”
“Are you referring to anything in particular?”
Whitney shrugged. “Law school was a problem and so was my marriage. She was right in that instance, but I think if she’d been less controlling, as far as Wiley was concerned, I might have found that out before I went the distance.”
“Did she break up your marriage?”
“No. It was doomed from the start. In fact, she picked up the pieces.” Whitney twisted her wineglass on the table. “It’s hard to explain. Something changed for me in California. Before, I would have said that my mother has tunnel vision. She’s like a racehorse with blinders on and the finish line in the distance.” Her eyes met his. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. I don’t know what I’d do without her, but sometimes the only recourse was to remove myself or else I’d never have any independence.”
“And now?”
“Now it’s easier to see her point of view.”
“Why do you think that is?”
The vee in her forehead was very pronounced. He wanted to rub it away.
She spoke softly. “Watching you with your children, seeing how much they mean to you, meeting your ex-wife, made me understand how lucky I’ve been. My mother has always been there for me. Your children haven’t been as fortunate.” She looked at him. “I hope this isn’t painful for you.”
“No. Not anymore. I regret Kristen. I wish I’d never met her, but that’s all.”
Whitney leaned forward. The wine on her empty stomach was doing double duty. “Maybe it would have turned out differently if you hadn’t come back to live with Mercedes.”
“That wasn’t my first mistake.”
“What made you do it?”
His eyes never left her face. “There was Claire to consider. Kristen couldn’t cope. She was close to a breakdown. I had to make a living. The way I saw it at the time was, I had no choice.”
“What else do you regret?”
“Marrying her, for one. Leaving Europe early to come home and work with my father. Giving up a discipline I loved to breed and train horses.”
“But you love that, too.”
“I grew to love it.” He reached across the table to refill her glass. “Maybe I’m not particular.”
She was conscious of his hands. They were brown and strong, the fingers long with clean, blunt nails. A wave of desire, so strong it made her dizzy, rose in her chest. Her stomach coiled.
“I think you’re very particular,” she said softly.
The tone of her voice had changed. He looked at her, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. “Maybe we could postpone dinner.”
“Or, I could throw something together, later.”
“I’ll tell our waiter we’ll be back tomorrow.”
She could barely get the words out. “Good idea.”
Whitney never could remember the details of the ride back to her town house. For the most part, she leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, opening them only to indicate where Gabe should turn. When she led him through the do
or and flipped on the hall light, she was embarrassed by the starkness of the spacious rooms. “I don’t spend much time here,” she confessed. “I keep telling myself that I’ll figure out the walls and furniture at some point, but it hasn’t happened.”
His eyes twinkled in amusement. “It isn’t a deal breaker.”
She realized that somewhere along the way the tables had turned. She, who’d started out so coolly confident, was swimming beyond her limits, while somewhere he’d taken the junior-lifeguard course. “What is a deal breaker, Gabe?”
He never answered and it didn’t matter. Her question drowned in the wave of emotion that propelled them toward each other, in the tangle of limbs and the frantic shedding of clothes, the connecting of flesh against flesh, silk and steel, angle and curve, the heat of racing pulses and seeking mouths and searching hands, the rise and leap of hot blood, and finally, when it seemed as if every sense was saturated and there was nothing left to be said or heard or touched, she was lifted and shaken with the shattering, tension-rich peaking, and the long, slow slide into lethargy.
Gabe recovered first. He propped himself up with his elbow. “Christ,” he said when he could speak again. “Looking at you, who would have thought?”
She knew exactly what he meant. “So much for maintaining a professional distance.” The idea struck her as funny and she laughed. The bubble of humor expanded in her chest and she couldn’t stop. Tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks and still she laughed. Gasping, Whitney buried her head in his chest, closed her eyes and gave herself up to the delicious tickle of happiness filling her throat.
He waited her out, holding her tenderly. When she collapsed against him, he kissed her ear. “I guess that means you liked it.”
She sniffed. “I need a tissue.”
He reached across the bed for his shirt and offered her the sleeve.
She stared at it and then at him. “You must really love me if you’re going to let me blow my nose on your shirt.”
“Actually,” he said, “it’s your dad’s shirt. I was going to wait a few days before confessing my feelings, but there you have it.”
She smiled and pressed the sleeve of his shirt to her nose.
“I was hoping you’d tell me you feel the same,” he said after a minute.
“I think I do, Gabe. I really think I do. I’m not sure how it happened. I haven’t known you for very long.”
“We’re not kids, Whitney. We’re of an age where we should know what we want.”
“Do you want to get married?”
“Are you proposing?”
She sat up and pulled the sheet around her breasts. “First, I have something to tell you.”
“Is it good news or bad?”
“It’s bad.” She shook her tousled head. “Very bad.”
“In that case I’ll prepare myself. But first, I have to tell you something, too. I’m keeping Claire’s horse, Lorelei. She’s attached to her. I can’t separate them. I wouldn’t want to even if Claire was normal.”
“I know. I don’t think that will be a problem.”
“There’s something else, too,” he continued. “I’ve seen a lawyer about the kids. We have a plan. We’re going to assume that Kristen wants money. I’m going to give it to her, within reason.”
“I hope it works for you, Gabe.”
“I need to know that you’ll be okay with this,” he said earnestly. “Taking on three kids is a huge challenge, and Emma and Claire aren’t the easiest kids. The money will help. I wouldn’t even be asking you to do this if it wasn’t for the money. We’ll have a good life. I promise not to burden you, too much. I’d like to say we’ll take it slowly, but I don’t want to. We can have more kids if you’re agreeable.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I know it’s too soon. Tell me what you want, Whitney.”
Her face felt frozen in its expression. More kids. Did he really want more kids? “Isn’t three kids enough for you, Gabe?”
“Wouldn’t you like to have one or two of your own? Our own?”
She struggled to pull in air, one painful, stabbing breath, and then to expel the words she hadn’t ever spoken out loud to a living soul. “I can’t have children. I lost a baby once, and I can’t ever have another. No one knows, not even my parents.”
His hand reached out and cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes against the compassion she knew she would see on his face. Her pride was strong. She couldn’t bear pity. She didn’t want sympathy or even understanding. She wanted acceptance, no more than that.
“What happened?” It was a question, gently asked, nothing more.
She opened her eyes. “I was pregnant. Wiley came home drunk and used me for a punching bag. It only happened once. I left right away. But once was all it took. With my parents’ help, I pressed charges. He was already on parole. They put him away for five more years.” She bit her lip. “Can you believe what a fool I was? What a stupid, ignorant fool?” She shook her head to erase the memory.
“Why wouldn’t you tell your parents?”
“Are you kidding?” Her eyes were wide and clear and her hair fell across her shoulders like pale silk. “My mother’s dream is to have a huge family. News like that would kill her. She couldn’t handle it. It’s better just to let her believe it’s possible.”
“You’re kidding yourself with that kind of thinking, Whitney. Your mother is an adult. She’ll accept the truth, and after the initial disappointment, both your lives will be easier. Surely you can’t enjoy having her grill you about your marriage prospects every time she sees you?”
“Of course I don’t. But I’ve waited too long. You have no idea what my mother is like when she’s wounded.”
“I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
She looked at him. “Will you, Gabe? Will you really? What about you? Do you want more children of your own?”
“Like you said, three is enough.”
“But you may not have three. You may end up with only one.”
“I don’t think so, but if it happens, I’ll deal with it. At least we don’t have to worry about the grandchildren thing with my mother. She has plenty, and Pilar isn’t even married yet.”
“Are you sure, Gabe?”
“Yes,” he said, so emphatically that she was convinced.
She settled back into his arms and pressed her Ups against his chest. “Maybe this will work out after all.”
“It had better work out. Do you have any idea how awkward it’s going to be telling your mother I’ll see her tomorrow morning?”
Whitney winced. “Ouch. I forgot about the kids.”
“It was your idea.” He pulled at a strand of her hair. “Under the circumstances, I would have been happy to leave them at home.”
Whitney groaned. “Even at my age, I’m still afraid of my mother’s disapproval.”
Gabriel shifted her in his arms so that they lay facing each other. “I don’t think it has anything to do with being afraid. It’s the conflict you’re avoiding.” He grinned. “I guess this means you’re kicking me out.”
“No. I’m going home with you. In the morning we’ll all eat together and then head over to Churchill Downs.”
At seven the following morning, Pryor stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes wide with surprise. “Whatever have you done, Whitney? It smells delicious.”
“I’ve made breakfast. You can call everybody down while it’s hot.”
“The children will be exhausted. It’s three hours earlier for them.”
Whitney stood back and surveyed her handiwork. Ramona’s strata sat in a chafing dish in the middle of the table. Beside it were platters of bacon, fruit, sausage and grits with gravy. The table was set with shining silver, a pitcher of orange juice and a French press filled with rich, steaming coffee. “They can handle it. They’re young and they won’t want to miss the race. Go wake them. I’ll call Daddy in from the barn. He’s been awake for hours.”
“Nerv
es, probably,” Pryor said. “It’s been a long time since Whitney Downs has entered two horses in the Derby.”
She turned back to the stairs and met Gabe and the girls on the way down. “Good morning,” she said. “I thought I’d have to drag you out.”
“Not a chance,” replied Gabe. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. How many people can say they sat in a box seat at the Kentucky Derby with the Benedicts of Whitney Downs?”
Pryor laughed. “I suppose that’s true. C’mon down and eat. Whitney has cooked up quite a spread.”
Boone walked through the back door and washed his hands at the sink while the others settled into chairs around the table.
“What this?” Emma scooped up a forkful of grits and watched it drip through the tines. “It looks gross.”
“It’s no such thing,” said Pryor. “This is a southern dish, sort of like your hash browns. I do think it’s an acquired taste, though. Don’t be surprised if you don’t fall in love with it all at once.”
“I’m not even going to eat it,” Emma announced.
“Emma,” Gabe said sternly.
“Eat whatever you want, Emma,” replied Whitney, “there’s plenty of food. But don’t take anything you aren’t going to eat. It’s wasteful.” Lord, she sounded just like Pryor. Quickly she glanced across the table. Was that a twinkle she saw in her mother’s eye?
“Sure smells good, honey,” said Boone.
“I had nothing to do with it,” announced his wife. “Your daughter did the cooking.”
“Is that so?” Boone looked surprised. “What’s this?” He poked at the strata.
“It’s an egg dish. Gabe’s sister taught me how to make it.”
He sampled a mouthful and his face lit up. “Mighty good. Time well spent. Pass me some of that sausage.”
“Just take one, Boone,” his wife suggested. “Eat the fruit.” She looked around the table and smiled. “I’m so pleased y’all are here. It’s just lovely to have children in the house.”
The Lavender Field Page 26