Boone spoke up. “Pryor makes the best pot roast in Kentucky. Dish me up a big plate, sugar. I’d like twice as much of that meat and half as many vegetables.”
“You know what the doctor said,” his wife reminded him. “Eight servings of fruit and vegetables every day and only six ounces of meat. You can’t have anymore, unless you give up dessert.”
He rubbed his hands. “Bring on the dessert.”
“You and I will have rainbow sherbet.”
Boone groaned. “I like ice cream with my pie, not sherbet.”
“That won’t be a problem because you and I aren’t having pie,” Pryor said firmly. “I’m sure everyone would rather have ice cream, but because no one wants to make you feel deprived, we’re all exercising some discipline. You should be grateful.”
“I am grateful, but I’d rather have ice cream and pie, and today I’m gonna have it. It’s not every day a man’s horse wins the Kentucky Derby.”
Across the table, Whitney’s eyes met Emma’s and her lips twitched. The girl’s napkin was pressed against her lips in a Herculean effort to stifle her laughter. Whitney took pity on her and looked away. Had her parents always been like this and she hadn’t noticed, or were their flaws more obvious in front of strangers?
“I’ll have sherbet, too,” Claire announced. “I’m not supposed to have pie.”
“Bless you, darling child,” said Pryor. “I appreciate the support. Do you see, Boone? We’re all trying our best to keep you healthy, even the children. If Claire can exercise discipline at her age, so can you.”
Boone winked at Claire. “Today, I’m gonna have Derby pie. Tomorrow, I’ll worry about my heart.”
* * *
Later, when Whitney and Gabe took over the sitting room to discuss the counter terms she would be presenting to the Austrian ambassador, Pryor climbed the stairs to look in on the sleeping children. Boone, fresh from his shower, walked down the hall to lay a hand on her shoulder.
“They’re really very nice children, aren’t they?” his wife whispered.
“Very nice.”
“Whitney says that Claire’s diet seems to be helping her condition.”
“That’s good.”
“They’re so happy here.”
Boone grunted.
“They are happy here,” she repeated.
“Of course they are. Who wouldn’t be?”
“You’re getting at something. I know you, Boone Benedict. You pretend to agree with me, but you won’t actually say it, and that means you don’t agree.”
“I can’t figure you out, Pryor. You’re the most confusing woman on the planet.”
“Why did you say what you did?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were thinking,” she insisted stubbornly. “I know you’re thinking something.”
He sighed. “What I’m thinking is, they’re nice, happy children. But they’re Gabriel Mendoza’s children, Pryor, and that means no matter how much you want to, you can’t keep them.”
She shrugged his hand from her shoulder. “I know perfectly well I can’t keep them, but you don’t have to be mean about it.”
With that she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving him to shake his head and wonder, once again, if he shouldn’t read that book about men and women being from different planets.
Twenty-Eight
Sunday passed too quickly. Even Emma acknowledged that a barbecue ending with Boone’s homemade ice cream, of which he only had a single serving, was an excellent way to spend an afternoon. Later that evening Pryor taught the two girls how to crochet. After giving them two crochet hooks, she invited them to choose a skein of yarn from her own collection to take back. As a grand finale, she astonished Boone by promising to bake her famous cholesterol-rich cinnamon rolls for tomorrow’s breakfast, the ones that won first prize at the state fair.
While the girls were occupied with Pryor, Whitney and Gabe spent a great deal of time working out the details of Gabe’s counter offer. She would present it by telephone to the Austrian ambassador the following morning.
“I’m not supposed to be advising you, you know,” she told him. “Technically, I’m representing the other side.”
“There is no other side. I’ve decided to sell and accepted their price. All I want is one horse.”
“The slightest hint of conflicting interests can be a problem. I’m hoping no one sees it that way.”
“Have you met him?” Gabe asked. They’d found a rare moment alone and were sitting side by side on the porch swing.
“Who?”
“The Austrian ambassador.”
She shook her head, acutely aware of his hand on her thigh. “No. But I think you will when this goes through.”
“Maybe.”
“You can count on it. Your father is a legend among these people. He performed a dangerous and difficult task for them and he was successful. They’ll want to meet Franz Kohnle’s son.”
“Do you think I’ll have any trouble keeping Lorelei?”
“I can’t imagine that one middle-aged mare would make a difference.”
In her office the following morning, while on the phone with the ambassador, she wished she could retract her words, or, at the very least, been less definitive in her assumption. “May I ask why it’s so important to attain all the horses?” she asked. “Mr. Mendoza will want to know the answer to that question.”
“I’m not at liberty to go into details,” said the smooth voice with its slight German accent. “You may relay to Mr. Mendoza that our reasons are sound and not the least bit arbitrary.”
“What if your answer isn’t good enough?” Whitney asked. “What if your stipulation is a deal breaker?”
The silence stretched out to the breaking point. Finally, the Austrian spoke. “Please don’t allow that to happen, Ms. Benedict. We aren’t playing games. We’ve offered him a generous amount of money.”
She wasn’t intimidated. “Neither is Mr. Mendoza. His daughter is very attached to her horse. The child has a rare form of autism. This isn’t only about the money.”
Again the silence was palpable. Whitney heard the murmur of voices in the background. Her source spoke again. “Please present our terms, and then arrange a meeting with Mr. Mendoza.”
“In California?”
For the first time the arctic voice warmed. “By all means, in California.”
“I want to be perfectly clear, Mr. Ambassador. If your offer isn’t accepted, will the meeting still be necessary?”
He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“I can’t guarantee that Mr. Mendoza will agree to a meeting.”
“I understand. Please try, Ms. Benedict.”
She hung up the phone and rubbed her temples. Would Gabe accept the offer once he knew Claire’s horse was part of the package? She sighed. There was nothing to do now but ask him. Once again she picked up the phone.
He answered on the first ring. “How does it look?”
“There’s a problem. Can you meet me?”
“I’ll be right there.”
Whitney picked up the sheaf of papers in front of her and walked down the hall to Everett Sloane’s office. “Is he available?” she asked his secretary.
The woman smiled. “I’ll check for you.” She picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Whitney Benedict is here to see you.” She hung up. “Lucky you. Apparently he’s been waiting to hear from you all morning.”
Whitney groaned and opened the door, careful to close it behind her.
Sloane was seated behind his desk. He rose to greet her. “So,” he began without preamble. “I hear that Mendoza may not bite.”
She swallowed. “News travels fast.”
“Is he an idiot? They’re offering a fortune.”
“There’s a glitch.”
He motioned her to a chair. “What’s so special about this horse?”
Whitney sat. “It belongs to his daughter, Claire. She’s eight years old and she has
an unusual form of autism. She acts normally when she’s around her horse.”
“With that kind of money, he can get her another one.”
Whitney’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair. “Some things are difficult to replace.”
“For Christ’s sake, Whitney. It’s a horse. How different can one be from another?”
“With all due respect, Everett, that is hardly the sentiment of a man from Kentucky horse country. Horses are as different as people. They have personalities and abilities and temperaments. This isn’t a racehorse. She wasn’t bred and raised to be a commodity. Lorelei is a family pet.”
He stared at her. “You haven’t become personally involved in this, have you, Whitney?”
She looked down at her hands, embarrassed.
“Shall I take over for you?”
“No.” It came out too quickly. She wet her lips. “I’ll finish it, Everett. Don’t worry. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Gabriel accepts the offer. It’s in his own best interests to do so, on all fronts.”
“Stay professional, Whitney. We’re in a bind here. This has gone on too long for us to accept defeat.”
“I realize that.”
“Good.” He stood. “I think that covers it. Keep me informed.”
“Of course.” She handed him the sheaf of papers. “This is a copy of the counter offer. Why don’t you look it over?”
“I’ll do that.”
Back in her own office, Whitney threw her notes into her briefcase and closed the door behind her. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day,” she told her secretary. “You can reach me on my cell phone.”
Without waiting for an answer, she took the stairs down to the lobby, walked through the glass doors and sat down on the bench under the elm tree to wait for Gabe. The sun soothed her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe evenly. When Gabe drove up, she was completely relaxed and in control of herself again.
He climbed out of the car and sat down beside her. She ignored the rush of pleasure that warmed her cheeks.
“It doesn’t look good, does it?” he asked immediately.
“That depends on your interpretation.”
“What’s going on?”
“They won’t allow you to keep Lorelei.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The ambassador would like to arrange a meeting with you.”
He frowned. “That makes no sense, Whitney. I don’t believe they’d give up all the horses just because they can’t have one. Lorelei isn’t even prime breeding stock anymore. She’s an older mare.”
“Maybe you’ll have your explanation when they meet with you.”
“Who’ll be at this meeting?”
“The Austrian ambassador and the director of the Spanish Riding School.”
Gabriel thought a minute. “I’m calling their bluff. We’ll have our meeting but I’m not giving up Lorelei.” He stared straight ahead. “Tell them that.”
“Fair enough.” She bit her lip. “I have to ask you something, Gabe.”
“Shoot.”
She turned to face him. “What if it isn’t a bluff? What if they won’t buy the horses without Lorelei? Can you afford not to sell? Won’t it be horrible for your family?”
For a long time he didn’t answer. When she’d given up, thinking she’d gone too far, he spoke. “Claire is my family. She’s here because of me. Maybe she’s the way she is because of something she inherited from me. I’m responsible for her, more than anyone else. The rest of them will manage with or without the money.”
Whitney felt the sting of his words, searing and clean and completely without compromise. She felt defeated. She’d had such high hopes for this day, the one day they would be completely alone without parents or children. He didn’t suggest lunch or spending the afternoon together, and given his mood, she didn’t mention it, either.
It wasn’t until she was in her own car, on the way back to her parents’ home, did she recognize the root of her emotion. There wasn’t a soul on the planet who inspired in her the kind of feelings Gabriel had for his daughter, and there wasn’t ever likely to be.
Pryor had outdone herself once again. Lunch was her mouth-watering fried chicken and potato salad. Boone took one look at the repast spread out on the picnic table in the back of the house and visibly brightened.
He sat down across from Claire and Emma and poured himself a tall glass of liberally sweetened iced tea. “I can’t tell you how much better I’m feeling with a little fat in my diet,” he said to his wife. “I read somewhere that if you don’t eat some fat, you always feel hungry and you end up eating more.”
“Really?” Pryor raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “I’d like to see that. Be sure and find it for me.”
Emma considered the chicken. “Did Whitney eat food like this when she lived here?”
“She sure did,” Boone replied, “and she still does when we’re lucky enough to have it. It didn’t hurt her, either.”
“Whitney understands portion control,” Pryor cut in, “and she was always on the go. You couldn’t find a more active child than Whitney was. Now she hardly eats a thing.”
“She ate a lot when she was at my house,” Emma said. “I think she likes Mexican food.”
“Most people eat more when they’re on vacation.” Pryor turned to her husband. “Now, Boone, if you took just a bite of that potato salad and only one piece of chicken and loaded up on green salad and watermelon, your cholesterol levels wouldn’t be off the charts and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If you’d just realize that I feed you the way I do because I don’t want to lose you, maybe you’d be more cooperative.”
“I know, honey.” Boone was halfway through an enormous chicken breast. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Are we going home today?” Claire asked her sister.
“I think so.”
Pryor set down her fork. Suddenly, she’d lost her appetite. “I’d hoped you could stay a few more days.”
“We still have school,” Emma reminded her. “Besides, Gran is probably missing us.”
“That’s true,” Pryor admitted. She wasn’t feeling at all reasonable. Having Gabe and his children and Whitney under one roof with her was a dream come true. She didn’t want to see it end. “Maybe you’ll come back sometime.”
“I hope so,” Emma said honestly. “You’ve been really nice to us.” She grinned. “I’m almost to the point where I like riding.”
Pryor managed a smile. “California is such a long way away.”
Boone covered her hand with his. “It’s only seven hours by plane. That’s not too long when you have friends on the other side.”
Emma sighed and pushed her salad around on her plate with her fork. “Life is easier here,” she admitted. “I don’t have to worry about the same things I do when I’m at home.”
“That’s because this isn’t home,” Boone said wisely. “If you settled here, it would be the same when you went back to California.”
“I want you girls to consider this your second home,” said Pryor. “I mean it. Don’t you forget about us or I’ll fly to California and kidnap you.”
Claire spoke up. “Why don’t you have any little girls?”
“I did,” Pryor answered. “Whitney was my little girl. But she grew up.”
“Why don’t you have another one?”
Pryor looked at Boone helplessly. He shrugged. “I guess I was only meant to have one.”
Her answer appeared to satisfy the little girl. Relieved, Pryor picked up her fork again. Then she heard the sound of a motor. “I think somebody’s here.” She looked at her husband. “Are you expecting anybody?”
He shook his head.
She folded her napkin and stood. “I’ll go and check out in front.”
She was nearly at the door when it opened and Whitney stepped inside, followed by Gabe. “My goodness,” Pryor said. “I didn’t expect you back so early. Is e
verything all right?”
“There’s been a complication,” Gabe replied. “Where are the girls?”
“Eating lunch in the back. There’s plenty more if you’re hungry. We’re having chicken.”
“You go ahead,” Whitney said. “I’ll go upstairs and change. I’m not going back to the office today.”
Pryor waited until Gabe was seated beside his daughters. Then she followed Whitney upstairs. She knocked on her closed door. “Honey, it’s me. May I come in?”
“I’ll be down in a minute, Mom.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Whitney’s sigh was audible through the closed door. Pryor heard her steps on the floor. The door opened. She had already exchanged her Armani suit for a cream- colored linen shift and sandals. “What is so important that it can’t wait?”
Pryor pushed past her and sat on the bed. “I want to know what happened.”
“Nothing happened. Gabe won’t sell Claire’s horse and the Austrians want her. I’m not sure why one horse makes the difference, but for some reason it does. I have to arrange a meeting between Gabe and the principals in California. That’s all there is to it.”
Pryor frowned. “Gabe is giving up millions for a single horse? Is he insane?”
Whitney’s forehead wrinkled. “It’s certainly odd. I asked him the same question. In a nutshell, he explained that Claire is the most important person in his world and he feels responsible for her condition. He’s afraid that she’ll regress if she suffers the disappointment of losing Lorelei.”
“Hogwash.”
“We don’t know that, Mama,” Whitney said wearily. “We haven’t seen Claire at her worst. Maybe he’s right. Maybe a child’s health is worth millions. I don’t know.”
“Children adjust,” Pryor said flatly. “Claire will adjust. She lost her mother, for Pete’s sake. She can certainly stand to lose an animal.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The point is, neither of us really knows what will happen to Claire without her horse. It isn’t our decision. She isn’t our child. We don’t have to live with the consequences.”
Pryor reached out to smooth her daughter’s hair. “Am I right in thinking this clarifies things for you?”
“In what way?”
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