by Peggy Gaddis
“You are in love with Bix.” Roger stated it flatly, made it a statement and not a question. “Well, poor you!”
Judy’s face flooded with bright, hot color.
“Don’t you dare pity me!” she flashed at him childishly.
“I’m sorry,” said Roger, but his tone indicated that he was not really concerned. “I only meant that if you are in love with Bix, you’d better sharpen up your weapons and move in fast and slug it out with Marise. She’s a pretty predatory critter and observes no rules of fair fighting—”
Judy stood up and said coldly, “Thank you for the good advice. I’m sure, since you know her so well, it is good advice. But just because I’ve known Bix since we were kids doesn’t necessarily mean that I am in love with him.”
“Of course not.” Roger’s tone was coaxing, conciliatory.
“If you’ve finished breakfast and will excuse me, I’ll see about having a room prepared for you and get your things moved,” she said coldly, and stalked out, head held high.
Roger stood where he was for a moment, and then the door behind him opened and he turned, thinking possibly Judy had had second thoughts and had returned. But it was her mother who came in and who paused, startled at the sight of Roger there in her own quarters.
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Mayson, you’re up early,” Beth said politely. “And did you have a good breakfast?”
“Delicious, thank you, Mrs. Ramsey.” Roger held her chair for her, and when the maid came in with Beth’s tray, he indicated his chair and asked, “May I?”
“Oh, do, by all means,” Beth answered, and added to the maid, “Bring Mr. Mayson some more coffee. Toast, perhaps?”
“Thanks, no, it was a very ample breakfast,” Roger assured her. “I had the luck to share it with your very charming daughter, Judy!”
Beth looked up from the glass of orange juice she had just lifted and asked, puzzled, “Judy is already back from her ride?”
“I don’t think she went for a ride this morning,” Roger answered. “It seems that Bix invited Marise to ride the horse Judy usually rides, and she didn’t seem disposed to choose another one from the stables.”
Beth’s eyes widened and she looked away from him.
“So Miss Parker is riding Starlight this morning!” she said softly. “She’ll miss Judy almost as much as Judy will miss her.”
Roger nodded, his eyes still on her with a curious, enigmatic look that she was too abstracted to notice.
“This is a very beautiful place, Mrs. Ramsey,” he said after a moment. “Oakhill, I mean. You must all love it very much.”
“You mean because several generations of our ancestors have been born, lived and died here?” she drawled. “I suppose Bix told you about that.”
“Well, no, Bix never mentioned Oakhill until he got the word about his grandfather being so ill, and felt he should come and pay his respects,” Roger answered frankly.
Beth’s eyes lowered to her plate, and she crumbled a bit of toast before she managed an answer.
“I’m sorry Bix could not have come to pay his respects while his grandfather was still conscious and could have known of his presence,” she said quietly.
“I see your point,” Roger answered. “But of course he has been very busy this last year or so, I understand.”
“Since he met Miss Parker?” Beth was deliberately probing.
Roger nodded. “I believe his activities have increased quite a bit since then,” he admitted cautiously.
Beth’s mouth thinned.
“I can imagine,” she drawled, and looked straight at him. “And yours, Mr. Mayson?”
She couldn’t quite be sure, but she thought there was a tinge of color in his tanned face, and his eyes did not quite meet hers.
“Oh, I first met Miss Parker four or five years ago, and my activities haven’t changed very much,” he answered. “She is a lot of fun, and a lovely girl. A bit demanding, perhaps, but when she gets her way, which is about ninety-nine percent of the time, she can be charming. And when she doesn’t get her way, she makes a tropical hurricane seem like no more than a gentle spring breeze.”
Beth studied him curiously.
“You are very frank, Mr. Mayson. Doesn’t anybody like her? Bix was appallingly frank, too.”
There could be no doubt now that there was a tinge of brick-red beneath the sun-tan on Roger’s cheeks as he looked away from her and said, elaborately casual, “Oh, a girl as rich as Marise never lacks friends.”
“Friends?” Beth probed. “Or hangers-on?”
Roger’s grin was faint and mirthless.
“Hangers-on, of course, Mrs. Ramsey. But isn’t that always the way when a girl is young and beautiful and scandalously rich? She doesn’t really have time to make friends, do you think?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Beth answered, “never having been either young, beautiful or scandalously rich. But it doesn’t sound like a very full or rewarding life.”
“I suppose not. But Marise seems quite satisfied with it, and that seems to be what matters, doesn’t it?”
“You know her much better than I do, so I’m afraid that’s a question you’ll have to answer for yourself.”
Roger said grimly, “Then I’ll say I don’t know anybody who enjoys life more than Marise, except possibly for one thing.”
“Dare I ask what that is?”
“She has everything in the world she could possibly want, so she has nothing else to wish for. And for a girl like Marise, that’s an unhappy state of affairs.”
Beth’s mouth twisted slightly.
“My heart bleeds for her,” she mocked.
Roger grinned heartily. “So does mine! And now, if you’ll excuse me, thanks for a very fine breakfast.”
He nodded his thanks and strode from the room, while Beth sat ignoring her cooling coffee, her thoughts very busy. So Marise had everything she wanted, did she? Beth wondered if that included Bix and told herself wearily that undoubtedly, judging from the evidence at hand, it probably did.
Chapter Six
Judy heard the clop-clop of hooves on the drive, looked from the window of the room that was being prepared for Roger and saw Bix and Marise returning from their ride. Even from there she could see the frosty-looking sweat on Starlight’s neck and the flecks of foam on her jaws, as she fought the too tightly held bridle.
She turned and, without a word to the two maids who were busily getting the room ready for Roger, ran down the stairs and out of the back door to the stables.
Marise was just slipping from the saddle when Judy, her eyes flashing, her face scarlet with anger, ran into the stable yard and demanded furiously, “What did you do to her? Gallop her half to death? And you’ve cut her mouth with that tight bridle. Don’t you know anything about riding a fine horse?”
Bix and Marise stared at Judy in startled amazement; then Marise’s surprise was replaced by swift anger.
“Why, you impudent, insolent creature, how dare you speak to me like that?” she demanded sharply.
But Judy was swabbing the horse’s neck with a bit of hay she had caught up, and was soothing the trembling creature, who nuzzled her shoulder like a hurt child coming at last to its mother’s arms.
Marise caught Judy’s shoulder and flung her about, even as Bix moved protestingly forward. The two girls eyed each other, swords of enmity flashing between them in the warm, flower-fragrant spring air.
“I asked you how you dared to speak to me like that!” Marise hurled the words at Judy in a tone that was like a hot breath of fury.
Judy’s head was high, and she was still caressing the horse’s satiny neck.
“And I’d like to ask you how you dared ride Starlight without my permission. Which you would never have received, I might add!” Judy flashed.
Marise stared at her and then turned to Bix.
“Do I have to take this insolence from one of the hired help here in your own home, Bix?” she demanded.
“But it isn�
��t his home,” Judy cut in before Bix could answer. “And it won’t be as long as the Old Gentleman lives.”
Marise shrugged and said carelessly, “Oh, but the nurse says that can’t be much longer, and then the whole place will belong to Bix.”
And then, as though she hadn’t meant to say that, she turned swiftly to Bix with an air of contrition that didn’t fool Judy for a moment, although Bix seemed to accept it at face value.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Marise said gently. “I didn’t mean to say that. But I asked the nurse if we were disturbing your grandfather, and she said he was in a coma and didn’t know anything that was going on. So you see, dearest, there really was no need for you to come hurtling down here after all. I tried to tell you that, remember? But you were all steamed up about your duties and responsibilities, and there was no stopping you from making a trip to this deadly dull place.”
She turned back to Judy, who had listened with her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide. Marise’s tone was so different from the one she had used when she had spoken to Bix that it was almost as though someone else were speaking.
“And as for you, you insolent creature, I shall ride the stupid horse every morning while I am here, and I haven’t the remotest intention of asking your permission and approval about that or anything else. The horse belongs to Bix, not to you. Is that quite clear?”
As though there could not possibly be anything for Judy to say to that, she turned back to Bix, thrust her hand through his arm, drawing herself close to him, and said sweetly, “And now what about breakfast? I’m famished; aren’t you?”
Bix gave Judy a long, level look before he allowed himself to be drawn back toward the house. But Judy was busy soothing the horse, talking to her tenderly, hiding her face against the horse’s satiny muzzle, making no effort to control the tears that slid down her face.
“Don’t you worry, Precious,” she murmured to the horse’s pointed ear. “She’s never going to ride you again. Judy’ll see to that, even if I have to smuggle you out of here and hide you somewhere.”
She stiffened beneath the impact of that thought, and for a moment she stood quite still, her eyes widening. Of course, she told herself eagerly, that was the ideal solution. She would get Starlight away from the stables, hide her somewhere where she could not be readily available for Marise’s use.
She would go to Sam, tell him what had happened, and Sam would look after Starlight until Marise left. She could depend on Sam. She’d always depended on him, and he had never failed to help her solve any problem, large or small.
She settled Starlight comfortably, attended to the sore mouth and then went swiftly out of the stables. As she came out into the sunlight she paused, for Bix was coming toward her, scowling in anger.
Head up, eyes cold, hands sunk deep into the pockets of her worn jodhpurs, she waited for him to reach her. When he did, she saw that he was very angry and braced herself.
“You were pretty rude to Marise, Judy,” he attacked her the moment he was within speaking distance.
“She was pretty brutal to Starlight,” Judy reminded him.
“Nonsense! Marise is an experienced and expert rider.”
“Probably on those livery-stable hacks she can rent in New York.”
“She has some very fine horses at her place out west.”
“Then why doesn’t she go out there and ride them?” Judy asked, although she knew the question was childish. She rushed on, “The Old Gentleman asked me to ride Starlight and look after her and be as good to her as he was. He would have been terribly upset if he had seen Starlight come back, covered with sweat and with a sore mouth.”
“Starlight almost ran away with Marise.”
“Well, hooray for Starlight!”
“That’s not a kind thing to say!”
“I didn’t intend for it to be. I’m just sorry Starlight didn’t do what she was trying to do.”
Bix eyed Judy curiously and asked uncertainly, “And I suppose you know what the horse was trying to do?”
“Well, of course,” Judy answered sweetly. “Starlight was trying to throw her. Too bad she didn’t manage it.”
Bix scowled. “You mean the horse is dangerous?” he demanded.
Temptation perched for an instant beside Judy, but she managed to resist it.
“Only to strangers. With someone she knows, she is as gentle as a lamb,” she told Bix unwillingly.
“Which means, of course, with you.”
“No one else has ridden her since the Old Gentleman’s stroke six months ago.”
Bix was thoughtful for a moment, and then he nodded reluctantly.
“So, of course, that was the main reason you didn’t want Marise to ride her. You felt it was dangerous,” he said slowly. It was obvious that he wanted to believe that, even if he found it a bit difficult to do so under the circumstances.
Judy hesitated, and then she said, “You could say that was the reason.”
Bix was silent for a long moment, studying her almost as though he were seeing her for the first time and not quite sure that he liked what he saw.
“I don’t think I understand you, Judy,” he said at last.
Judy beamed at him with venomous sweetness and said, “Why, thanks!”
Bix scowled. “Thanks? For what?”
“For not understanding me. After all, how could you, since we are practically strangers? And no woman likes to feel that she is an open book that a man can read at a glance.”
Bix took that in for a moment and then said curtly, “Marise will ride another horse tomorrow morning.”
“That’s for sure!” Judy told him firmly.
“I’m only making that decision because you assure me Starlight is dangerous for strangers, not because of your silly, absurd, unforgivable scene just now.”
“It accomplished its purpose,” she reminded him coolly.
His scowl deepened and he said, as he started back toward the house, “So it did. So it did, indeed.”
Judy watched him go and tried to hush the small, secret cry deep in her heart. This wasn’t the Bix of her dreams; the Bix she remembered and loved all these years. This was a stranger and one she wasn’t quite sure she even liked. And wouldn’t she be the prize fool of all time if she was still in love with him! Surely, oh, but surely she couldn’t be. She wouldn’t allow herself tobe.
She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the house, and so she wandered down back of the stables to the vegetable garden, where the farm hands were busy with a multitude of spring chores. All of them greeted her as she walked past.
This was home, she reminded herself forlornly. This was Oakhill, beloved, cherished, infinitely precious. And with the Old Gentleman’s death it was going to be broken up into farms and sold. Where all the people who had made the plantation their home for generations would go she couldn’t imagine, because she Couldn’t imagine living anywhere but at Oakhill! Yet she and Beth would have to go, too.
She fought against the tears that threatened and at last dropped down on a fallen tree trunk at the far end of the home garden and gave herself up to the weeping she had fought for so long.
So sodden was she in grief, she was unaware of the horseman that rode along the edge of the garden and who saw her, a small, huddled heap of misery beneath the shadow of the giant live-oak. And so it was that she was unaware of Sam’s presence until he dropped down beside her and asked, deeply concerned, “Why, Young ’Un, what’s wrong?”
She turned blindly to him as his arms went about her and held her close, his sun-tanned face twisted a bit, his eyes smoldering as he waited for her to stammer out an account of the morning, Marise’s ride on Starlight and the condition in which Starlight had been returned.
“She told me she was going to ride Starlight every morning while she’s here,” Judy sniffed, trying to control her tears. “And I thought maybe I could smuggle Starlight out of the stables and hide her somewhere so Marise couldn’t find her.”
/> “That’s not a bad idea,” Sam agreed. “I’ll look after her, if you want me to.”
She turned, a soft blush touching her tear-stained face, and asked eagerly, “Oh, Sam, will you?”
Sam scowled down at her.
“Well, didn’t you know I would do anything for you, Young ’Un? Haven’t I always?” he demanded, mildly resentful of the question.
“I know you have, Sam, and I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I hope I never have to find out,” she replied radiantly. She added reluctantly, “Of course, I told Bix a lie.”
Startled, Sam looked sharply at her. “A lie? What kind of a He?”
“Well, it wasn’t a really-for-true lie; just a sort of one.” She was like a child confessing a minor crime. “I told him that Starlight was dangerous with strangers. He said she tried to throw Marise this morning and tried to run away. And she’s never done that with me or with the Old Gentleman. So I guess maybe it wasn’t a lie, was it? Marise has a very heavy hand on the bridle, and when they got back Starlight’s mouth was all sore and bruised and she was trembling and covered with sweat.”
She had poured the whole story out in a rush of words as though anxious to get it all said and to accept whatever censure he felt she deserved. And so she was deeply relieved and grateful when his scowl was wiped out by a good, healthy smile that told her he did not disapprove.
“Then I’d say if she still insists on riding Starlight, whatever happens is her own fault,” he said firmly.
“But I don’t want her to. I don’t trust her,” Judy protested anxiously. “I told Bix about Starlight being dangerous with strangers so maybe he could stop her from wanting to ride.”
She broke off, because Sam was shaking his head doubtfully.
“She sounds to me like a woman who would accept that as a challenge, as an affront to her riding ability,” he said thoughtfully.
Alarm touched Judy’s tear-stained face.
“Yes, she is like that,” she admitted forlornly.
“I haven’t met her or even seen her,” Sam reminded her. “But from what you’ve told me about her, I have a strong hunch she is like that.”