by Peggy Gaddis
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.”
“Then we’ll have to hide Starlight!” Judy said hotly. “I will not let Marise ride her.”
Sam looked down at her, his expression touched with a tenderness she was too upset to realize or to understand. Her thoughts were chaotic and her spirits were very low, he knew.
“Sam,” she said unexpectedly, “what are you going to do when the Old Gentleman is gone and Bix sells Oakhill?”
Sam’s brows drew together in a slight frown, and he was very thoughtful for a long moment.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?” he answered at last. And there was a faint wariness in his voice, of which, like the tenderness that had been in his eyes, she was not quite aware.
Judy nodded soberly. “It seems so awful to be sitting here planning what we will do after the Old Gentleman is gone,” she said huskily. “Dr. Dellinger says he could live for years as he is—but, oh, Sam, I don’t want him to! He’d not want just to be a sort of vegetable! He’s always been so strong and energetic and so in love with life and living. The nurse says he is not conscious. I hope he isn’t, because if he is, how he must hate being like this. It would humiliate him unbearably to be so helpless.”
“I know, Young ’Un, I know,” said Sam, and dropped his arm about her shoulder as though she had been a small, grieving child. “Tell you what. I have to go in town on a couple of errands. How’d you like to go with me? We could have a bang-up lunch, and you could window-shop, and I’d bring you back in time for dinner. How about it?”
“Oh, Sam, I’d love it!” She sprang to her feet, scrubbed the backs of her hands against her tear-stained cheeks and managed a small, shaky laugh. “But give me time to clean myself up a bit. I must look a mess.”
“Shouldn’t take you more than an hour.” Sam grinned at her. “I’ll pick you up on the drive.”
Impulsively she flung her arms about him and kissed his cheek and said, “Oh, Sam, you’re a sweetie-pie, and I love you to pieces.”
He stood quite still when she danced off toward the house, and then he touched the cheek she had kissed as though he hoped to find there some tangible evidence of the kiss. And then he swore softly under his breath.
“Don’t be a fool,” he told himself savagely. “That was exactly what she would have said to an older brother. It didn’t mean a thing. She’s all for Bix, even though at the moment she thinks she hates him! She’s as much in love with him as ever, and don’t build up any false hopes!”
But the memory of that impulsive kiss went with him as he swung into the saddle and went trotting back to the cottage that was his home, to get himself ready for the trip to town.
Chapter Seven
Judy was on the wide verandah beside the drive, dressed and ready. Though town was only a few miles away, she went in so seldom that it was still an exciting treat for her. She could have gone every day if she had wanted to, of course, but she rarely saw any need for it. There was always so much to do at Oakhill that she was perfectly content. But today it was going to be good to get away for a while, and lunch in town with Sam was going to be nice.
She looked very pretty in a thin wool dress of pale pink, her slippers and bag white. Her thoughts were on the coming trip, and she turned, startled, as a voice spoke behind her, and faced Alison Parker, whose eyes widened as she smiled at her.
“My word, but you are pretty!” Alison said pleasantly. “You must be going somewhere. Lucky you!”
“I’m going in town to lunch with a friend,” Judy said curtly.
Alison smiled.
“Oh, is there a town? I wondered,” she answered lightly just as Sam drove up in his car.
Judy said unwillingly, “Would you like to come along?”
Startled, Alison glanced at Sam and then at Judy.
“Oh, but I’m sure you’d rather be alone,” she protested.
“Not at all,” Judy assured her coolly. “Sam and I are very old friends; we grew up together. I don’t believe you two have met.”
Alison’s eyes inspected Sam, who had gotten out of the car and was now standing on the lower step, looking at her admiringly and with warm friendliness. Judy made the introductions, and Sam said heartily, “Be happy to have you with us, Miss Parker. I have some errands to do, and Judy will be alone until lunch-time, and for a while afterwards.”
Alison said eagerly, “I’d
love it, if you’re sure three isn’t a crowd.”
“Not a bit of it,” Sam assured her, and held the door of the car open for her as Judy slid into the front seat and made room for Alison beside her. “Delighted to have you, aren’t we, Judy?”
“But of course!” Judy responded, eyes straight ahead.
Alison laughed lightly.
“Which is a lie, of course. If you’ll stop here at the gate, I’ll take myself back to the house,” she told them.
Color flowed into Judy’s face, and she turned impulsively and laid her hand on Alison’s in apology.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be a witch,” she said quickly. “I just happen to be in a foul mood this morning and am taking it out on anybody who comes within reach of me. Sam and I will love having you. I’ll show you some of the sights while he’s busy with his errands. It’ll be fun.”
Alison closed her hand on the one that had touched hers, and her smile was warm and friendly, as was her voice when she answered.
“I’m almost afraid to ask what brought on the foul mood, but it seems to be contagious. Marise was in a towering rage when she came back from her ride, and Bix was glowering as if somebody had stolen his lollipop.” She looked down at Judy, and her eyes twinkled. “If it’s any comfort to you, anybody who can put Marise in a towering rage and not show signs of the battle must be very smart indeed. May I congratulate you?”
Judy was staring at her, and Sam had taken his eyes off the road ahead long enough to glance at Alison beneath brows drawn together in a surprised scowl.
“I know,” Alison answered their startled glances before they could put their thoughts into words. “I’m Marise’s cousin, and I live off her charity, and I should be ashamed to do anything but lie at her feet and beg her to walk on me. But now and then she goes a bit too far, and I can’t take any more. Today is one of those days.”
“Then I’m glad you’re coming in town to lunch with us,” Judy said firmly, “because it’s one of those days when I can’t take any more of her, either. Or, come to think of it, of Bix!”