He eased back on the upholstered chair, glancing around the dance floor. Toni, unsurprisingly, never showed up. They used to tear up a dance floor in their early years, but she had little interest in anything horsey.
Several single gals might enjoy a dance, and two who might seek a more intimate kind of boogie in an upstairs suite… an offer he’d politely turn down. Despite frequent temptations, he never descended to Toni’s tawdry level.
Craig was jarred from his thoughts by a group circling the table.
“May we join you?”
A spare, straight-backed man, probably late sixties, rested a hand on the back of the next chair. His graying temples and aquiline nose were the picture of an aristocratic horseman.
“Sure,” Craig said, rising. “I’m just saving two seats for friends who got waylaid by the storm.”
“That should work. We’re only five.” He proffered a hand. “I’m Marlon Baines, and my wife, Buffy.”
He turned, gesturing to a shorter, blonde, hard-muscled man, twenty years his junior.
“This is Avery DeMond, and his wife, Catherine. And their lovely daughter, Leslie.”
“I’m Craig Thornton.” He shook hands with the men. “You new to our Illinois horse scene? I thought I knew pretty much everyone.”
Catherine bore a strong resemblance to the elder man… surely his daughter. Ergo, the tall, slim, and very pretty blonde Leslie, probably early twenties, was the grand-daughter. Another family look-alike.
“Yes. We’ve purchased Leslie a new hunter, and we thought we’d experiment with some open classes, as well. He seems an eager jumper. This area appeared a likely spot to get her first taste of competition. Get our feet wet, you know.”
“Well, today is a perfect day for that,” Craig said. They chuckled, settling into the chairs to his left, with Leslie conveniently parked next to him. Her smile was saucy and inviting.
“Are you alone, Craig?” She leaned suggestively closer.
“Yeah. My wife had other plans tonight, and I wouldn’t miss this bash.” The up-turned corners of the girl’s mouth twisted down. She shrugged, straightening in her chair. He grinned.
“At least I may have a dance partner. Gets pretty boring, sitting around while the rest of the crowd is cutting a rug, don’t ya think.” Her smile returned from a threatened sunset.
“Yes, that’s sweet of you. I love to dance. It’s just a different kind of ride.” She winked.
Oh boy! I wonder what kinda ride she means. Not tonight, not with me, sweetheart.
He glanced at the entryway, wondering again, what happened to Ashley Easton.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Ashley jerked erect as the flare of headlights slashed across her closed eyelids.
“Finally,” she muttered. Reaching over, she flashed her headlights three times and glanced at her watch.
Jesus, I actually slept for fifteen minutes. How do you do that in a situation like this? I guess my 911 call got through.
Through the deluge, now faded to a steady rain, she watched the vehicle slow, pulling alongside. A pick-up truck? Clearly not an emergency vehicle. A tall, bulky figure, swaddled in rain gear, exited the truck and stood, hands on hips, surveying her predicament.
Icy fingers tripped down Ashley’s back, raising the fine auburn hairs on her neck.
Out here alone in the boonies, with a strange guy stopping. I need help, but what if…
I’m a sitting duck, if this guy is a psycho. Damn, I wish Keith were here.
Or maybe that strangely alluring guy who watched her competitions. Somehow she was sure he’d protect her.
Her hand scrabbled under the seat, coming out with the steering wheel anti-theft bar… a good, hefty weapon, should she need one.
She flinched when the figure loomed suddenly outside her window.
“Ya got a problem, don’tcha, lady?”
She squinted through rain-streaked glass at a chubby-cheeked, dark-haired woman, looking not at all threatening. Ashley couldn’t see if her bulk were fat or muscle, but regardless, she shivered, with no one there to protect her. Psychos come in all shapes and sizes.
“Yeah, I hit a puddle and spun out, and now it won’t start.” She hadn’t the courage yet to open the window or unlock the doors. Woman or not, the tingle of danger trickled across her spine. Something looked ominous, with her bulky shape, dreary sky and a lonely road.
“So I see,” her Angel of Mercy (or minion of Death?) said. “Lemme see if I can get a chain on the front and pull ya away from that ditch. Then we’ll try and get her started. You stay put fer now, ‘cause any movin’ around might tip her into the ditch.”
Ashley hunkered against the door, with a firm grip on the heavy anti-theft bar resting in her lap. She was uncertain what to do next, but it seemed safest to stay in her seat for the moment, ready to bail should the car slip back into the still rushing sluiceway.
The woman reappeared, trudging across the roadway, dragging a heavy chain. She carried a large, ominous looking tool in her other hand. Ashley had a finger-numbing grip on her “weapon,” her breath coming in short gasps.
Somehow dreams, barely remembered, inched into her thoughts: a meadow, a winding brook, passion… and deadly, unseen danger.
That place I’d envision in the beginning, when we were getting passionate? Why now?
Merde! French? Now, when she’s in trouble? Was this all connected with…?
Ashley flinched as piercing bright lights swept across her. She blinked, squinting through the glare. Another vehicle arriving.
Oh, thank God. A tow truck. Her 911 call must have gotten through. The driver, encased in a yellow slicker, clambered down and was soon in conversation with the other woman. After a moment, the latter gathered her chain and slogged back to her pick-up. A minute later she was gone.
Pent up breath Ashley didn’t know she’d been holding hissed out between unclenching teeth as the emergency vehicle driver arrived at her door. Ashley cracked her window open, quickly explaining what had occurred.
“I can give ya a tow back to town,” said the beefy, middle-aged man. His heavily lined face sported a graying moustache below a thin-lipped mouth and dull brown eyes. “But why don’t you see if she’ll start now.”
“You think it’s okay to move? The car could slip into the ditch if I…”
“It looks safe. I’ll sit on the bumper to stabilize her… give ya some support.”
As he settled his bulk on the front of the SUV, she felt the rear slightly tilt up out of the culvert. Shrugging, she hiked up her form-fitting dress and again clambered over the center console, settling in the driver’s seat. Planting a foot on the brake pedal, she pressed the keyless ignition button, lurching at the instant roar of the V-6 engine.
Oh, thank God! She released the parking brake and flipped the shifter into Drive, easing down on the accelerator.
“Hey, hang on there. I’m still out her, ya know.” As he driver scrambled away from the front of the vehicle, the rear tires settled back into the culvert, drawing the SUV backward, toward the still racing, temporary torrent. She gunned the engine, setting the front wheels spinning, but the thing kept edging in the wrong direction.
“Shit!” Wild-eyed, she saw the man jog alongside and drape himself across her hood.
“Ease off the gas and hit the brakes,” he yelled. “Yer spinning out and losing traction.”
Barely in control of her panic, she complied, shifting into Neutral, and resetting the parking brake as well. Their retreat into watery oblivion paused, but she could now sense water buffeting the rear wheels.
“This is getting kinda dicey,” he shouted, “but I think yer stable now. You just hang onto those brakes, and I’m gonna get my rig back here and hook ya up.”
You shoulda done that first, Goddammit.
She shivered, her left leg shaking as it clamped down on the brake pedal, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel. The other foot kept light pressure on the accelerator, keeping the en
gine revving. She didn’t want it quitting, now that she had it fired up again.
What a mess. Mascara stained rivulets trickled across the round hills of her cheeks. Will I ever make it to the party?
This compulsion to go was so unlike her, but somehow she knew she needed to be there. An image of a dark-eyed, curly-headed face flickered across her mind. She shook her head.
I don’t even know who he is.
Glancing up, the man had arrived, dragging the tow cradle. He disappeared below the hood, and she sensed, more than felt, the rattle of metal to metal. A moment later, he popped up, the yellow slicker splattered with mud.
“Messy.” He spit, and wiped the back of a hairy hand across his lips. “When the cable comes tight, ease offa those brakes and try a light acceleration.” She nodded a he ran to his truck, activating the pick-up lever. The rain had moved off, but thick steel-wool clouds still hovered just above treetop.
The braided steel cable arced up from the muddy bank, causing the Lexus to tremble. Her left foot released the Parking Brake, then switching feet to maintain pressure on the foot brake, she shifted out of Park. The vehicle shuddered, inching forward as she fed gas to the engine.
“Easy on the gas, until you’re clear of the soft mud,” he yelled. She softened her strangle hold on the steering wheel, flexing fingers, trying to return circulation. Two minutes later she was on the gravel shoulder, moving under the SUV’s own power.
Shivering, tiny faucets opened from her eyes, heaving and shaking with the uncontrolled release of tension. By the time her rescuer unhooked his cable and squared away his truck, Ashley was back in control, the tear having gone underground.
She shimmied her dress, bunched almost to her hips, back in place, dried her eyes, and was fishing in her purse for her repair kit. She must look a fright. The driver again materialized at her window.
“Okay, yer good to go. Don’t look like ya did any damage. Ya need anything else?”
“No, thanks. I appreciate your help.” She sighed, slipping her purse into her lap. “What do I owe you?”
“Fifty bucks’ll do it. Crummy night, crawling ‘round in the mud.”
“I’ll say. Here,” she passed him a hundred dollars. “Keep the change. I’m just glad you came along. I didn’t know if I could trust that woman.”
“Who? Mattie? She owns a diner up the road a bit. A good soul. Thanks for this.” He waved the bill, then hurried back to his truck. It had started to drizzle again.
Ashley glanced at her watch. Golly, 7:30. They’re probably sitting down for dinner. Only twenty-minutes away. If she hurried, she could still have an evening.
Ten-minutes later she was heading south on the Reagan Tollway. Traffic was light and she make good time, despite the very wet road.
Wonder if I’ll see him there.
Finally get a chance to meet… learn why he’s so familiar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Craig struggled to keep some separation from Leslie as they glided smoothly around the dance floor. With salads finished, she rose, offering him her hand. He followed her to the crowded floor, where she appeared eager to snuggle in his arm as they awaited the tenderloin and lobster tail main course.
Craig couldn’t refuse her request to dance, but was determined to refute her every attempt at something more intimate. She was an appealing girl with a willowy, athletic body, but extra-marital sex was off the table. His marriage had to be rendered absolutely dead before he’d even consider an affair, no matter how tempting.
“Looks like they’re serving the meal,” he said, gladly breaking away and taking her hand. “Let’s get it while it’s hot.” As he led the reluctant blonde toward their table, there was a clatter in the hallway, a thump, and one of the padded leather doors began opening. His heart jumped to a jungle beat, and the small hairs on his neck came to attention.
Had Ashley Easton finally arrived? And why was he so obsessed by a woman he didn’t know, despite a strong sense of déjà vu? Shrugging, his eyes riveted the doorway. He sighed, sagging back into his seat when a hostess hurried through, but perked up again, since she was holding the door for someone.
The new arrival stormed into the hall, and eyes flaring wide, Craig almost bit his tongue. A black-haired beauty in an erotically décolleté white silk dress… Toni, not Ashley.
“What the Hell is she doing here?” he muttered. He came out of his chair as her azure eyes found his, blood-red lips curling into a humorless smile. She glided to his side, planting herself in front of him, arms akimbo, head tilted back, her glance raking the table before centering on him.
“Ha! The big horseman. My stud. You making time while the cat’s away? Who’s the blonde cunt? Some new ride for you, baby?”
“Toni, watch your mouth!” She reeked of gin. “Don’t try to measure me by your standards. Not everyone’s a trollop.”
“Yeah, right.” She wobbled unsteadily, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Totally drunk.
“What are you doing here?” Craig asked. “You never come to anything to do with horses.”
“Yeah, well, my party pooped out, so I thought I’d find my sexy husband. Aren’t ya glad to see me, baby?” She staggered, sagging into his arms. He caught her, resisting the temptation to let her drop flat on her face. As much as he was often tempted, it wasn’t in him to be nasty to her, regardless of her excesses.
“You’re totally sloshed.”
“I know.” She wriggled against him, her lush body, apparently sans undergarments, tantalizing his.
“Take me home, baby,” she whispered. “Take me home, and take me to heaven, like old times. I need you, Craig.”
“Yeah, well you don’t give me much of a choice. Can’t let you drive like this. No knowing who you might kill on the way.” She moaned softly, going completely limp against him.
Craig scooped her up, turning to his table companions, who were inhaling the scene, looking a bit dumb-struck.
“Sorry about this. Please don’t take anything she said personally. She occasionally can have a drinking problem. Wish we had more time to chat. Nice to meet you, and good luck with your new horse, Leslie. Maybe I’ll see you at some events.”
He headed for the door, Toni nestled against him, her head on one shoulder, arms circling his neck. Her soft, gin-laden breath caressed his neck, raising small goose bumps… and unwillingly, something else.
Damn the succubus bitch. Something sent her on a bender, and then seeking me out. Ruined the evening.
It probably didn’t matter at this point. The redheaded Mrs. Easton apparently was a no-show, and he had no other reason to linger… except for that delicious looking meal, going cold on his plate.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Despite right-turn signals flashing for a quarter-mile, Ashley had to bull her way into the right lane, barely in time to exit the toll way at Spring Road. Traffic had been creep and park for over a mile, apparently due to an accident somewhere ahead. As if she hadn’t had enough delays!
They’re probably half-way through dinner by now. Finally able to slip onto the turn-off, she raced ahead, happy her prepaid electronic toll pass would avoid further delay. Crossing Cermak Road on the green light, and spying the Renaissance Hotel ahead, she eased tense muscles, settling back into the comfortable leather bucket seat.
At last. She hoped she wasn’t too late.
Too late for what? Dinner… or meeting that strangely alluring guy.
She couldn’t grasp why he seemed to matter to her. It wasn’t sexual… whatever it was. At least she didn’t think so. Besides, she’s a married woman and would never cheat on Keith. But that horseman was strangely magnetic, and she was sure she must know him from somewhere.
Maybe a jumping coach? Turning into the entrance drive for the hotel, she shook her head and sighed. Whatever it was, she hoped he was there tonight. She noticed the parking lot and the valet section were overflowing, so the storm had not dissuaded many guests from attending.
She co
asted to a stop opposite the valet desk, behind a red Jaguar convertible pulling out. The bass-drum echo of thunder was soon followed by heavens bid for electrical pyrotechnics, igniting the sky with jagged streaks of fire, as heavy rain drops again bombarded the area. Luckily, the large covered portico provided plenty of shelter as she stepped out of her SUV, taking a claim slip from the attendant. Draping the matching sequined short jacket over her shoulders, she hurried inside, heading for the elevators. The Gala was on the fourth floor.
As the car began its stately rise, she plucked her compact mirror from her purse, rechecking earlier repairs to her makeup. Considerable engineering was required after she was safely retrieved from near-disaster, but other than a slight puffiness under gray eyes, all looked in perfect order. The elevator lurched to a soft stop, the doors swishing open to the upper lobby.
Ashley stepped out and hesitated. The room seemed vacant, but the strains of a popular melody wafted out from behind far side double doors, bracket by two large, artificial stallions, regaled in full jumping gear. She hurried across as quickly as the tight dress would allow.
“So damned late,” she mumbled. She spied a greeting table with several name cards still tented on top. Pausing to look for hers, a tall, spare woman appeared from behind a screen. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a sever bun, behind a sharp angular face.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m Ashley Easton. Reservation for two, but my husband didn’t make it. Last minute business.” Why should I be making excuses for him?
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Easton. Here you are. Held up by the storm, were you?”
“You’ve got no idea! Am I too late?
“No, not really. You missed some great appetizers, but they’re just serving the main course, so you’ve got time to get caught up. Then there will be the annual awards.”
“Okay. Are there table assignments?” She gathered up her printed name tag and place card.
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