Eighteen

Gabriel finished up the last of his paperwork, swept the pile into a semblance of organized chaos and pulled down the top of the antique desk he’d acquired at an estate sale. It was a splurge, solid mahogany, well out of his price range and completely inappropriate for the dusty office of a horse stable. Yet, he’d never once regretted it. Whenever he wheeled his chair up to the enormous desk and rolled back the pleated top, he felt different somehow, elevated, as if he’d traveled back to another time, another world, where men and women dressed for dinner, ate and drank from cut crystal and fine china, where children were cared for by competent nannies, and heavy bedroom drapes weren’t pulled back to let the sun in until noon. In other words, a world as far away from the dirt and the barns and the dawn-until-midnight legacy his father had bequeathed him without once bothering to ask whether it was what Gabriel wanted.

The truth was, he hadn’t wanted it, not at first. Gabriel loved language, specifically the English language. The words of the classic poets, usually British, weighed on his mind, rolled off his tongue, flitted through his consciousness at the oddest times. His library of books, all hardcover, were worn, spine-battered, the gilt edges dimmed and dog-eared, favorite passages marked, notes etched in the white spaces of the margins.

Long ago, while lying on a warm green lawn at the University of Santa Cruz, half dozing in the warmth of a benevolent sun, listening to one of his professors read a passage from Yeats, he’d entertained the notion of teaching English at one of those campuses where ivy crept up the walls of graceful brick buildings that had proudly stood for two hundred years. He closed his eyes and imagined lecturing behind a podium to a hushed classroom, his senses steeped in the scent of old books, the gleam of seasoned wood and the subtle haze of chalk dust swirling around his head.

It hadn’t happened. Even though Gabriel graduated with a degree in English literature and a minor in mathematics, he’d done nothing with either discipline. He’d spent his junior year and the summer after his graduation in England, but, too soon, his father needed him. He’d intended his return home to be temporary, but one year rolled into the next and, before he knew it, he was married with two stepchildren and a daughter of his own. Gabriel, raised in the tradition of family first, buckled down for the good of everyone except himself. And then a funny thing happened. The trade of his ancestors, the Austrian horsemasters and the Spanish vaqueros, grew on him.

“Hey, Dad.” Eric leaned against the doorjamb. “I finished spreading fresh hay in the foaling barn. It doesn’t look like anything’ll happen with Tiny Dancer tonight. She’s too mellow.”

Gabriel nodded. “I agree. Why don’t you collect your sister and we’ll go home.”

“When is Gran leaving the hospital?”

“They want to do an angiogram,” Gabriel replied.

“What’s that?”

“They send a monitor through the arteries and the chambers of the heart to be sure there isn’t any blockage.”

Eric blanched. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you going to let them do it?”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Since when do I have the last word when it comes to Gran?”

“Do you want them to do it?”

“I’d rather they wait until she’s up and around. They have other tests that aren’t as invasive. She’s still complaining of serious pain in her ankle. I wonder—”

“What?”

Gabriel blinked and looked at his stepson. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m hungry. Let’s go home.”

“You might have to convince Claire. She’s joined at the hip with Lorelei.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Gabe’s mouth. At first he wasn’t sure about setting Claire up with a spirited Lipizzaner, but she’d wanted it so badly. “Good,” he said.

Eric’s flashing grin warmed his face. “I’ve got a few things to finish up in the tack room and then I’ll warm up the truck. I’ll meet you outside.”

Gabe turned out the light, locked up the office and took an indirect route down the dirt path into the third barn where the Lipizzan mares were stabled. One had foaled last week. He stopped in front of her stall. The colt was a beauty, smoke-colored, with the delicate molded head and wide-spaced dark eyes typical of the breed. This one’s fuzzy coat would thicken and his splayed legs straighten when he was a few weeks older. “Hey, fella,” Gabe said softly, “get some sleep. Your mom needs turnout time and you’ll have to keep up with her starting tomorrow.”

“Hello, Gabriel.”

The voice came out of nowhere. Bracing himself for the painful wrench in his gut that Kristen never failed to bring, he turned. She was more hollow-eyed than he remembered, her figure backlit by the warm glow of the lamplight. Seconds passed. Nothing happened, nothing more than a twinge. Relief flooded through him. “Hello, Kristen. What brings you here?”

“My children.”

“You’re kidding.” The words were out before he could stop them.

Her mouth twisted. “I guess it’s too much to hope that we can be civil with each other.”

“Not at all. I can do civility. Eric and Claire are here. I’ll go back to the house and leave you with them. You can drop them off later when you see Emma.”

“That’s big of you.”

“What did you expect?”

She shrugged. “A greeting, maybe. Something along the lines of How have you been, Kristen. You ’re looking well.”

Gabriel nodded. “I can do that, too. You’re looking well, Kristen. How have you been?”

“I miss the kids,” she said. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

“Good.” He started to walk past her.

“Wait.” She reached for his arm and changed her mind. The distaste on his face was obvious. “Could we talk for a minute?”

He shook his head. “The kids are ready to go home. This isn’t the time.”

“When?”

His brows knitted together. “What’s the point?”

“I need money,” she said simply. “I’m not making it.”

He stared at her. “Why not get a job?”

She flushed. “I’m not exactly skilled labor, Gabriel.”

“You’re the one who left.”

“Does that mean I’m supposed to be destitute?”

“You know I don’t have money to throw around. You cleaned out half of everything we had when you left. What happened to all that?”

“It’s expensive to travel.”

“Don’t they pay you anything?”

She lost her temper. “Why are you being so brutal? I’m not making enough. If I was, I wouldn’t be telling you this. I’m not a spender, but I have to live.”

“I’m not sure what you want,” he said evenly. “You have three children whose support you’re not contributing to. Two of them aren’t mine. What about that?”

She ignored him. “What about the house?”

He sighed. “Don’t be stupid, Kristen. It belongs to my mother. It always has.”

“The horses don’t belong to your mother.”

“She owns a percentage. So do my sisters and I. It was ours before I married you. Separate property stays that way.”

“Not if it’s co-mingled. The proceeds from this business supported our family for years.”

“I don’t have money to support two households. You knew that when you left. We’ve already agreed on a property settlement.”

“I kept the right to collect spousal support.”

What had he ever seen in her? “Go ahead. Try to collect. You might find yourself with fifty percent custody of three children or else having to pay a hefty amount in child support.”

“And you might find yourself splitting the proceeds of the money from the Austrian government.”

His breath caught. “May I ask how you know about that?”

“Emma told me. I picked her up at school.”

“Did she also tell you that I have no intention of accepting the offer?”

Kristen crossed her arms and leaned back against the door. “You might have to.”

“Mom?” Eric’s voice cut through the tension.

She turned, mustered a smile and held out her arms. “Hi, honey.”

He didn’t move. “What are you doing here?”

She lowered her arms. “I had a little break and thought I’d swing by and see you and your sisters.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just tonight.”

Eric nodded. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“Great”

The silence lengthened.

Gabe and Kristen spoke at once. “I guess—”

“I think—” Kristen stopped.

Gabe continued. “Your mother would like to spend some time with the three of you. Why don’t you grab something to eat together?”

“What about Whitney?” Eric asked. “She’s expecting us.”

“I don’t think she’ll mind,” Kristen offered. “After I dropped Emma off, Whitney talked me into coming here.”

Too late, she realized her mistake. “I would have come, anyway,” she said. Her voice was barely audible.

Gabriel looked away in disgust.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Eric said quickly. “I have homework. Maybe you can spend some time with Claire and Emma.”

Kristen wet her Ups. “Emma has homework, too. I don’t think—”

A small, silent figure slipped under Kristen’s arm, ran to her father and leaned against him.

“Hi, honey,” Kristen said softly. “How are you?” Claire looked at her mother and burrowed deeper into Gabe’s side.

Kristen inched forward. “You’ve grown so much, Claire. I wouldn’t have recognized you.” She held out her arms. “Come on, baby. Give Mama a kiss. I’ve missed you. I brought you a present.” Slowly she reached into her purse, pulled out a folded piece of cloth and shook it open. It was a T-shirt with a logo on the front. “See? It’s from Las Vegas. That’s where I’ve been the last few weeks. Do you like it?”

Claire stared at her mother.

Defeated, Kristen’s arm dropped. “I’ll leave it for you.”

Despite his personal antipathy, Gabe hurt for Kristen. She was still a mother and these were her children. “You and Emma can finish your homework later,” he said to Eric. “I’ll drive Claire home to get her sweater and then the four of you can go out.”

“Really, Gabe,” Kristen protested. “If they don’t want to come, it’s okay. I understand.”

“Eric, take your sister to the truck. I’ll be there in a minute.” He waited until the children were out of the barn. “You’re not getting off so easily, Kristen. You can damn well take your kids out for a meal. It’s been six months since you’ve seen them.”

“When did you get to be such an asshole, Gabriel?”

“When my wife deserted her family for an adolescent fantasy.”

“Do you ever think you might have had something to do with it?”

All the pent-up fury of the last eighteen months exploded and he lashed out at the cause. “I might have, if it was only me you’d left. It’s the kids I ache for, Kristen. I got over you long ago. A man can have more than one wife, but your kids have only one mother. You’re what they’re stuck with. I blame myself every day for giving Claire a mother like you.”

She gasped and lifted both hands to her cheeks.

Gabe strode past her out of the barn, well aware he’d crossed a line.

Pulling open the door of the truck, he nodded at Eric. “Your mother’s waiting for you.”

“I’d rather drive back with you.”

He slanted a long, hard look at the boy he couldn’t have loved more if he’d been his own flesh and blood. “I’d like you to do this for me, Eric. I want your mother to be with her children tonight.”

“Why?”

He wanted to shout to remind her of what she’s missing, but he knew better. “It’s important to her and to all of you,” he said instead.

Eric sighed. “Okay, Dad. Whatever you say.”

They were nearly home when Claire spoke for the first time since seeing her mother. “Are you mad at me, Daddy?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“Who are you mad at?”

“No one.”

“Why is Mommy here?”

“She came to see you, Emma and Eric.” He reached over and took his daughter’s hand. “She’s taking you out to dinner. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“I guess so.” Claire was quiet for a minute. “Will she bring us back home?”

Good Lord! He’d never understand what went on in her mind. “Yes,” he said emphatically. “She’ll bring you back right after you eat. This is your home. You’re not leaving it.”

“Will Eric and Emma come home, too?”

“Yes. They’ll come home with you.”

“Will they ever leave?”

Gabriel looked at his daughter. The reassuring denial was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the word. It was a promise he might have to break. Damn Lynne Chamberlain and damn her daughter. He made a mental note to call a family law attorney first thing in the morning.

The delicious, comforting aroma of cooking meat and onions wafted through the air when he opened the door to the hacienda. Whitney. He’d nearly forgotten Whitney. What would she make of all this? He tugged on a lock of Claire’s hair. “Run upstairs and get a jacket. You can wait for your mom in the kitchen. Tell Emma to be ready in ten minutes.”

Claire disappeared up the stairs and Gabe walked into the kitchen. A half-empty glass of wine sat on the counter. The table was set for six and Whitney was pulling something from the oven. She glanced at him and smiled. “I hope you like pot roast.”

“I like it,” he said, “but we’ll be the only ones eating it.”

She frowned. “Oh?”

“The kids are going out with their mother.”

She thought a minute, then smiled sunnily. “Would you mind if I asked the young couple who checked in today if they want to join us? It’s short notice, but they might not have any plans.”

He stared at her. Just like that she’d adjusted, no complaints, no recriminations, no long-suffering sighs, just acceptance and a sensible, generous suggestion. “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “In fact, I’ll ask them myself.”

She smiled. “They couldn’t possibly refuse.”

He almost kissed her. She was so appealing standing there, her nose flushed from oven heat and wine, her makeup rubbed off, her pleased-as-punch smile and her wheat-gold hair pulled back and secured with a wooden skewer she’d probably found in the flatware drawer. But Kristen was due any minute with Eric and he wasn’t sure how Whitney felt about public displays of affection. It occurred to him that he hadn’t done anything spontaneous for a very long time.

“How do I go about finding a family law attorney?” he asked abruptly.

She looked surprised. “I suppose you could go online to the American Bar Association. You should be able to get several referrals. I wish I could help, but I’m not licensed in California.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“I know why.”

“There’s more. Kristen knows about the offer for my horses.”

Whitney nodded. “She mentioned it when she brought Emma home from school. I told her where to find you.”

A muscle jumped along his jaw. “I may be in some trouble here, Whitney. You might think twice before getting involved with me.”

“Okay,” she said, looking at him steadily. “I’ve thought twice.”

“And?”

“I’m still here.”

This time he did kiss her, a brief, warm, unsatisfying brush of lips against lips. It was over before the back door opened and Eric bounded through the kitchen and up the stairs to wash his hands. Apparently Kristen had decided to wait outside in the car.