Was Jamey also now paying a price? Had their betrayal sent him off on his around-the-world quest? For what? Peace? Stability? Forgetfulness?
Something drove him. And it wasn’t merely a midlife crisis.
JAMEY WAS AMAZED at how often the telephone rang. Clients and contractors all wanted advice from Vic. She spent a good portion of her time answering questions, relaying information. She never seemed to sit down. Despite all that, she worked beside him pitchfork for pitchfork, grooming tool for grooming tool. And then while he rode, she continued to work. Too hard.
Shortly before noon she came out of the office with the cordless telephone in her hand. “Angie Womack wants me to meet her for lunch. Will you be all right? There’s plenty of food in the fridge up at my house.”
Yes. Jamey had been hoping for such an opportunity. He felt his heart speed up. “Absolutely.”
“Take a break. And don’t ride anybody while I’m not here. It’s loony to ride alone. I don’t want to find you stomped to death or lying on the ground with a broken neck when I come back.”
He nodded and smiled. A nod wasn’t actually a lie, surely.
He watched her drive away and turn the corner before he sprinted back to the office and began to search the file cabinets for any information about the black stallion. He found what little there was in less than a minute. Vic kept neat files—or Albert did.
From what Vic had told them, Albert would be considerably more suspicious than Vic was. She said he was extremely protective, and as a full partner, he had not only ValleyCrest’s reputation, but its financial standing to consider.
Jamey scanned the documents—import papers, health certificates, veterinary statements, the lot. He pulled a piece of paper from the notepad on Vic’s desk and wrote down the name and address not only of the farmer who had sold the horse, but the agent who had acted for Whitten. If he could prove that Roman was actually the horse stolen from him two years earlier, he would have a better shot at getting him back without resorting to theft. He’d get the information to Hamish tonight. Meanwhile, there were other important items on his agenda to deal with before Vic returned.
First he went into the oblong arena and set twelve-foot jump poles on top of the rails at the corners so that he created a lopsided octagon. He would have preferred to work the horse in a regular round pen with high sides and no distractions, but ValleyCrest did not have a round pen.
He zipped up his leather chaps and buckled a heavy training helmet on his head so he wouldn’t have to take the time to get himself ready later.
He groomed Roman and put a lunge cavesson on his head, then danced him into the arena, whistling to quiet the animal. He turned the horse to face him, unhooked the twenty-foot lunge tape and stepped back, his eyes on those of the horse. Roman snorted, wheeled and ran to the rail, where he proceeded to repeat his performance of the previous day. Jamey whistled between his teeth and slapped the coiled lunge tape against the ground and his thigh. The stallion exploded at the sound and began to tear around the ring.
Jamey kept him running for several minutes, holding his body square to the horse’s side and his eyes on the horse’s head. Every time Roman slowed down, Jamey sent him pelting away again. After only a few minutes the horse slowed to a trot, lowered his head almost to the ground as though he were searching for grass to nibble between his feet and began to chew.
“Yes!” Jamey said. He turned his body sideways and walked away. Only a moment later he heard the thud of the big horse’s hooves as Roman also walked away from the ring and over to Jamey’s right shoulder. Jamey could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. He grinned. “Gotcha!” He meandered around the ring while Roman followed him, nose to shoulder, blowing against his hair. Finally Jamey stopped, turned around and, when the horse did not move away, began to stroke him from head to tail. The horse sighed.
“Well, old son,” Jamey said, “now for the moment of truth.” The horse stood quietly beside one of the big solid wall jumps. Gently, whistling under his breath the entire time, Jamey climbed onto the jump.
The horse moved a step away. Slowly Jamey wound the fingers of his good hand into Roman’s mane and leaned his body over the horse’s broad back. Roman sidestepped, but did not buck.
After a moment Jamey, keeping his head low, swung his right leg over the horse’s back. He was astride. Roman accepted him with equanimity. He wore no saddle, no bridle. There were no reins or stirrups to keep Jamey aboard. Nothing but his balance. He had no steering mechanism other than his palms, flat on the sides of Roman’s neck, and his seat and legs. He relaxed and simply let Roman wander.
For twenty minutes Roman wandered all over the arena, sniffed the jumps like a bloodhound, shied at the white jump poles in the corners, snorted and skipped a couple of times just to see whether or not the thing on his back would go away. It didn’t of course.
Finally Jamey slid off. He was elated. Tonight he’d ride him, even if he had to sneak out at midnight to do it.
By the end of this week, he’d find some way to get Vic riding something again, even if only a pony. And by the end of next, he swore to himself, she’d be on Roman. Then he could truly see the horse work. After that, depending on whether he could prove Roman was rightfully his, he’d have to decide whether to offer Whitten a price he’d accept or schedule a theft.
He wished he had his cousin, Tony Costello, beside him. Tony could not only ride anything on four legs, he could move like a wraith. Whenever they got into devilment as boys, Jamey either confessed or got caught. Tony always escaped, whether they were smoking behind the bam—which earned Jamey a paddling from Uncle Hamish—or trying to convince two of the village girls to sneak out late to a dance.
Tony’s cavalier attitude toward other people’s rules had not kept him from becoming a respected Edinburgh veterinarian. As a matter of fact, his willingness to break the rules led him to some spectacular cures when others had given up hope. But he still had that ability to flout convention when need be. He’d snatch Roman without a second thought. Where the McLachlans and the Costellos were concerned, Tony believed that family came first, and the rest of the world was gaja. He’d be sorry to upset Vic, but that wouldn’t stop him.
As it would not stop Jamey. The only difference between the cousins was that Jamey would agonize.
VIC PARKED HER TRUCK beside Angie’s shiny new Suburban and went into the Five Oaks Grill to find Angie waiting for her in a dark corner, hunched over a glass of white wine. When she looked up, Vic swore she could see the remaining tracks of tears under Angie’s makeup.
“Hey, Ange,” she said, and slid into the seat opposite her. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not. I’m early.”
Vic pointed at the scarf wrapped around Angie’s wrist and up to her neck. “Shoulder hurt?”
“Not that much. It’s not the first collarbone I’ve broken. Stupid, really stupid, to fall off that way. I’m so sorry.”
“It happens. Don’t apologize. We’re managing.”
Angie perked up. “I’m still not convinced about Jamey, but I can’t deny that he showed up at a perfect time. Just when you needed him.”
“The Lord looks after fools.”
“Does Albert know yet?”
“Not unless you told him. You didn’t, did you? You swore...”
“Back off, Vic! I haven’t told a soul, but how long do you think it’s going to be before somebody from here takes their horses down to Florida, runs into Liz or Mike Whitten and tells them about this marvelous new foreign rider you’re living with?”
“Bite your tongue! I am not living with him.”
“He’s sleeping in your house, eating at your table, showering in your shower. And hey, great buns.”
“So call me a landlady running a boardinghouse. How many times have you walked into my house and found half a dozen total strangers lounging around during a horse show?”
Angie laughed. “None of them looked like that in a pair of jean
s.”
“Some of them did.”
“Name one.”
“I’m a tough old hen. He’s more likely to make a pass at one of the college girls than he is at me.” That kiss last night didn’t count. And Angie did not need to know about it in any case.
“Right. Man licks his chops every time he looks at you. You’re still a great-looking woman, Vic. And he probably thinks you’re richer than you are. You own all that acreage, run that big stable.”
“Muck out all those stalls, tote all that feed and hay. He’s bound to realize I’m poor as a church mouse.”
“To a saddle burn, you’re rich.”
“I think he comes from money in Scotland.”
“Coming from doesn’t mean currently possesses. I think he’s adorable, but all that means is that he can take advantage easier. Just watch yourself is all I’m saying.”
Now Vic felt her temper rise. “Don’t you lecture me, Angie Womack. I sat you up on your first pony when you were five years old. I am no fragile little old lady who plans to invest in a gigolo.”
Angie raised her hands. “Okay, okay.”
“Is that what this luncheon is all about? Warning me about McLachlan?”
Angie’s face fell and she looked away. “Not exactly. Vic, I need your advice.” With that, her face crumpled, her mouth pulled back into a mask of tragedy, and her chest began to heave with silent sobs. “Oh, God, Vic, what am I going to do?” She dropped her head onto the table and her shoulders shook.
Horrified, Vic began to stroke Angie’s shoulders. She leaned down and whispered, “Angie, honey, Angie. It’s all right, honey.”
Angie shook her head.
“What is it, honey?”
After a moment, Angie raised her head, dug into the pocket of her blazer for a tissue, wiped her eyes and honked into it. She sniffed a couple of times and took a deep breath. “It’s about Kevin.”
“What about Kevin?”
The mask came back instantly. “It’s ironic really. Kevin doesn’t want a family.”
“Kevin? He’s never met a baby he didn’t adore on sight.”
“He doesn’t want one now. He says he does, but he doesn’t. Not really.” Angie took a deep shuddering breath. “You know how hard we’ve tried to get pregnant.”
Vic nodded.
“You have no idea how concentration on sex purely for procreation can screw up your sex life. And maybe your marriage.”
“Not yours. You and Kevin really love each other.”
“Yeah, but you’ve bred enough horses to know that the mystique leaves in a hurry. Try feeling sexy when you’ve been riding all day and come home hot and sweaty, and your husband comes home from spending his time elbow deep in some other woman’s vagina and the thermometer says you have to have sex right that minute. And afterward you have to lie there with your knees in the air for an hour.”
She groaned and went on, “Kev has to give sperm samples to nurses he works with every day. And the worst of it is, every time I get my period I have major crying jags. And nobody can tell us why we can’t conceive. Kev’s family keeps looking at me as though I’m to blame, and my family blames him, and everybody we know gives us that pitying look, and all my friends’ children are heading into high school, and...” She gulped and twisted her napkin.
“Oh, Angie, I’m so sorry. I know you want a baby, but I had no idea how miserable you were. Have you considered adoption?”
Angie’s eyes began to leak. This time she allowed the tears to flow unchecked. “That’s the thing. I don’t know why Kevin’s against adoption, but he always sounded kind of lukewarm about it. Then last year he finally agreed to our filling out the papers for an Asian adoption agency. I sent them in and nothing happened, so I forced myself not to think about it. And then a week ago we got a letter saying we’d been approved to adopt a Chinese baby girl.”
“Oh, Angie! How marvelous!”
“It’s not! I called Kev practically hysterical with joy, and he tried to sound happy, but I could tell he wasn’t. So I went out to exercise some horses and try to think my way through it, and that’s when...”
“When you lost your concentration, fell off and broke your collarbone. I see. I should have known there was something. Ange, I’m sure you’re reading Kevin wrong.”
“No, I’m not. And to be honest, I need to know what he’s thinking. Did I force him to sign the application? Is he worried that I won’t be a good mother?”
“Angie Womack! That is the stupidest remark you have ever made.”
Angie shook her head. “Maybe he thinks I’ll dump the kid on a baby-sitter and go off and play horse the way I always have, and the kid’ll grow up deprived and turn out to be a juvenile delinquent or worse.”
Vic noticed the waitress had been hovering in the background waiting to take their order, but was obviously hesitant to intrude. Vic called her over, put her hand on Angie’s arm, and the two women ordered Cobb salads. After the waitress left, Angie turned to Vic again.
“I need a favor. I want you to talk to Kevin. Find out what’s wrong.”
Vic shook her head. “No way. I’ve known Kevin a long time, but not well. There’s no way he’d open up to me about something this personal.”
“Vic, you’ve got to. Kevin trusts you. You’re sensible. Please, please, please. I promise if you do this I’ll never ask you for another thing.”
Vic began to laugh. “You sound like an eight-year-old. I’ll say only this. Let me think about it. If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll see what I can do.”
Angie’s face lit up. “Thank you. And if he really thinks I wouldn’t be a good mother, I can start convincing him otherwise. We probably won’t be notified about a baby for months. By that time, he’ll be convinced. Oh, Vic, thank you.”
Vic nodded. What had she gotten herself into? She certainly believed that Angie would be a good mother, just as Kevin would be a wonderful father—but not to a child he did not want. Kids always knew when they weren’t wanted. Liz knew when her father, Vic’s brother, didn’t want her. Vic had known when her grandmother didn’t want her. Kids knew.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT FIVE O’CLOCK THAT evening the weather changed. Jamey raised his head from the last horse’s bucket and sniffed sunshine. He looked out the barn door and saw the waves of winter clouds rolling back from the west as neatly as a window shade to reveal one of the finest sunsets he’d ever seen.
In the ring Vic was finishing up a lesson with several of her after-school pupils from the local school. He thought she was a fine instructor and coach, always finding at least one good comment before she said anything critical. He leaned against the rail fence, propped one booted foot on the bottom rail and drank in the scene, the weather, feeling the sheer pleasure of muscles aching from a job well done.
He found he enjoyed watching her. She moved like a dancer and kept her hands flowing gracefully as she illustrated every point she made: He smiled to himself as he looked at her face.
She was watching Susie, one of her more advanced students, canter toward a three-foot fence and jump cleanly over it. Just for an instant he saw a flash of longing in Vic’s eyes so intense it was like physical hunger. Angie and the others might think she’d come to terms with her inability to ride a horse, but he knew differently.
Well, that was one little problem he could take care of while he was here. Maybe if he could leave her sitting comfortably once more in a saddle, it would go a long way toward making up for the deception he planned.
By the time the last student left ValleyCrest, Jamey was ready to put his plan into action. It was daring, a real gamble. If he failed, he’d be out on his ear.
He’d saved an elderly bay mare, even-tempered and broad-backed, as his last ride of the day. Vic told him he really didn’t have to ride her—the mare was, after all, already good at her job—but he insisted. Instead of his own saddle, he found the longest-bottomed saddle he could—one built to accommodate the rear ends of fa
t old fox hunters who drank too much beer. He rode the mare long enough to guarantee that she was downright somnolent
Then he leaned over and whispered into her ear, “You behave yourself, old girl, and you’ve got carrots from Jamey McLachlan for a month.” He took a deep breath and walked the mare over to the tall solid jump he had used when mounting Roman, then called to Vic, who was hosing down the wash rack. “Can you come out here a minute? I’ve got a tack problem I need help with.” He held up his bad hand in its black glove as though to emphasize his need for assistance.
“Sure.” Vic turned off the hose and walked out to the arena with her hands in the pockets of her jeans.
“Can you climb onto the top of this jump? She’s got something messed up with her brow band. I can feel it, but I can’t see what it is.”
Unsuspecting, Vic started to reach up for the band, but Jamey moved the mare just out of her reach.
“Botheration,” Vic whispered, and climbed up.
Jamey brought the mare close beside her and moved his rear end to the far back of the saddle. As Vic leaned over, he reached his good arm around her waist and lifted her bodily into the saddle in front of him so that she was slung sidesaddle across his thighs with her body twisted to face him.
He was afraid she’d scream and the mare would dump them both into the dirt.
Instead, she froze.
She caught her breath and threw her arms so tightly around his neck he was sure she’d strangle him.
“Jamey’s got you, lass,” he whispered in her ear.
He could feel her every muscle straining away from him, away from the horse, as though she could levitate straight out of the saddle if she tried hard enough.
“Hold on to me, lass,” he whispered, and began to whistle softly beside her ear, a barely audible trickle of sound.
Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 7