Twenty-Four

Hello, Whitney.”

“Gabe.” Her hand clenched the telephone so tightly the knuckles strained white beneath her skin. “How are you?”

“I miss you.”

Her stomach flipped over. She’d started this upfront, no games relationship. Now the question was, could she handle it? “Me, too,” she whispered, keeping her voice low so her secretary wouldn’t hear.

“I need to see you.” There was an urgency to his voice.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No. I made a plane reservation. I’m flying in this week.”

“Flying?”

“To you. To Kentucky.”

She swallowed and leaned against her desk. The edge bit into her hip. One word, one hint of hesitation, and it would all be over. “That’s wonderful,” she said, keeping her voice warm, her anxiety under wraps. “When will you be here?”

“It’s all right, then? You haven’t changed your mind?”

She could feel his relief and her own stomach settled. “No, Gabe. Nothing’s changed.” She closed her office door. “You can stay with me.” A thought occurred to her. She drew a long, silent breath. “It’s Derby weekend. Bring the kids. You can stay at Whitney Downs.”

He was silent for a minute. “That’s a huge imposition for your family. We couldn’t do that.”

“My parents will love it. Truly.”

He hesitated.

“I’d like you to meet my family, Gabe.”

He hesitated. “Okay. You’re on. We’ll be there Friday afternoon.”

“E-mail your flight information to me. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“I’ve reserved a car.”

“Have you come to a decision about the horses?”

“I’m selling. It’s a go.”

Amazingly, she managed to sound normal. “Fine. Call when you get in and I’ll meet you at my office.”

She replaced the phone and pressed her palms, bloodlessly cold, against her hot cheeks. He was coming here to Lexington to stay with her and he was selling the horses.

Again the phone rang. It was Everett Sloane. “I’m about to return Ambassador Moser’s call, Whitney. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“It’s a go.”

Silence. “Are you positive?”

“Gabriel is flying in Friday afternoon. We’ll finalize everything then.”

“Congratulations. I have to tell you, I honestly didn’t think it would happen.”

She refrained from telling him she didn’t, either.

He changed the subject. “If you’re free tonight, Wendy and I are having a few friends over to see the New Zealand pictures. How about it?”

“I’ll have to take a rain check. I have things to organize at home.”

Everett laughed. “I know the feeling. Another time. Let me know if you think we can take on the Razavi claim. It looks interesting.”

“Definitely,” she fibbed, and hung up the phone, grateful that she’d been spared the photographic details of yet another Sloane family vacation.

Pulling her hair away from her face, she let the silky-fine strands sift through her fingers, mentally noting that she needed a trim. Maybe she could fit one in before Friday. Then she sat down at her desk and flipped through the file she’d been given earlier this morning. Her potential client was an American student of Iranian descent, conscripted against his will to serve in the Iraqi army during the Gulf War, captured by American troops and detained for two years at Guantánamo Bay on terrorist charges. His parents, nationalized Americans, were putting up the money for his defense, but so far there had been no takers. Either the facts didn’t hold up, or no one wanted to take on the federal government. Whitney wasn’t sure it was even possible. The terrorist label was still new enough that precedent hadn’t been set. The case could go all the way to the Supreme Court. Part of what she liked about her job was the variety. Taking on a precedent-setting lawsuit meant doing nothing else until it was settled, and settlement could take years. Still, someone had to take it on. A man couldn’t vegetate in a military prison forever without a trial, not an American.

She flicked on her lamp, slid one long, nylon-clad leg over the other, picked up a yellow highlighter and began attacking the first page of the document in front of her.

* * *

Carefully, Claire Mendoza pulled the curry brush down Lorelei’s left flank. A cloud of dust billowed around her head. Repeating the motion, she attended to her task steadily, talking as she worked. “You like this, don’t you, girl?”

The mare flicked her tail.

“When I’m old enough, I’ll ride you in the Grand Prix. You’re already good enough, but I’m not. Daddy says I’m coming along, but I saw the videos and I have a long way to go.”

Lorelei blinked and buried her head in the mash pail.

“I wish I could ride you by myself, without Juan or Daddy beside me.” Claire thought a minute. “I sort of did when Whitney was here. She sat on the fence and let us ride. It was only in the ring, but we still did it. Didn’t we, girl?”

The horse continued to eat and the little girl continued to brush. “I love it when no one else is here except us. I guess it’s okay when Daddy and Eric are here, but that’s all. I don’t like it when it’s noisy. I can’t think.” Claire poked her head inside the tack room, found a hoof pick and a stool and returned to Lorelei’s side. She positioned the stool so the horse could see her, sat down and picked up the mare’s back left leg. “I’m not going to hurt you, girl,” she said gently. “Just keep eating. I’ll clean you out and everything will be just fine. You like being clean, don’t you, girl? I like being clean, too, but I don’t think I’d like it if someone was touching my toes. I’m ticklish.” She pushed her tongue between the gap where her front teeth should have been.

“Mommy used to clean between my toes and I didn’t like it. You remember Mommy, don’t you? Sometimes, I have a hard time. I have to think really hard to remember her face. Daddy put away all her pictures. Maybe you don’t remember her. It’s okay. She’s gone now. She told me she wasn’t coming back, except to visit. I guess she didn’t like it here.” Claire pulled a strand of hair from her mouth. “You like it here, don’t you, girl? I do, too. Daddy likes it here and Eric likes it here and Gran likes it here and Emma—” she stopped. “Maybe Emma doesn’t like it here, but Whitney does. She told me she did before she went away.”

The mare shifted her weight, lifted her nose out of the mash pail, snorted and buried it again. Claire smiled and pressed her cheek against the animal’s warm, muscled flank.

Gabe stood outside the stall and watched his daughter minister to the mare. He held his breath, afraid to mar the scene’s perfection, the horse’s white coat, the little girl’s dark, loose hair, the chatty, confident innocence of her words, the careful movements of her small, tanned hands and, the part that stung the insides of Gabriel’s throat with its unconscious purity, the obvious love emitted by the child for the horse she considered her own.

Her own. The phrase threw him when he realized its implications. Lorelei was part of the Lipizzaner package, a middle-aged brood mare with good reproductive years ahead of her. He’d given Claire the mare before he even knew about the damned offer. He couldn’t break her heart. Hell would freeze over before he’d make his daughter give up her horse. He would have to make Whitney understand. Lorelei wasn’t part of the deal.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said softly.

Claire tensed, but she didn’t look up.

“Hi.”

“How are you doing in here?”

“Okay.”

“Lorelei sure looks good. She’s so clean. She looks like silver.”

No answer.

“Are you hungry, sweetie?”

Claire shook her head.

“It’s about time to clean up.”

Claire’s small face assumed a rigidity that Gabe knew only too well. What did the experts say? Allow the situation to defuse. Give your child time to solve her own problem.

Gabe stepped back. “I’ll finish up in the office. When you’re done, I want you to find me there. Okay, Claire?”

Nothing

He frowned. “Please answer me, Claire. Just say yes or no. I want—I need to hear your words.”

Her lips tightened. Minutes ticked by.

“All right, sweetheart. I’ll be in the office.” He turned to go. He was nearly out of the barn when he heard her voice again, talking to the horse, not to him.

“I have to go in a few minutes,” she said. “I have to eat my dinner, just like you, only with Gran and Daddy and Eric and Emma. I wish I could eat here with you.”

Gabe’s mood lightened. She sounded almost normal, like any other little girl with her favorite pet. No matter what else he gave up, he would keep Lorelei for Claire.

Pryor sat out on the porch, a glass of lemonade in her hand. Lila Rae sat across from her, holding an identical drink. Between them was a half-empty pitcher and a plate of sugar cookies, another recipe of Tallulah’s so heavily laden with butter it was sure to bring on a heart attack.

“I love this weather,” said Pryor, her head lolling against the high-backed lounge chair. “Late spring and fall are the only decent seasons we have.”

Lila Rae nodded. “Speaking of fall, I’m thinking of going away for Thanksgiving.”

Pryor sat up. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. I looked through those cruise brochures you showed me. I’m not getting any younger, Pryor. I’d like to see the Greek islands before I die.”

“But it’s a family holiday,” Pryor wailed. “We hardly have any family as it is.”

“Whose fault is that? You should have had more children.”

“That isn’t fair.” Pryor’s hands trembled. She set down her lemonade glass on the side table.

Lila Rae frowned. “I didn’t mean to upset you, sugar. Obviously, I hit a nerve. We’ve been down this road before. Don’t you think it’s time to talk about it? I can bring out the sherry.”

“I don’t need alcohol.”

Lila Rae wisely remained silent.

“Oh, all right.” Pryor tilted her glass to get the last delicious drop of sugary liquid. Her head was feeling strange. She stared defiantly at her aunt. “Boone wasn’t up to it.” She started to laugh and then stopped immediately. “No pun intended.” She lifted her hand to her forehead. “Did I really say that?”

“Whatever you say is safe with me,” Lila Rae assured her. “You know nothing goes beyond this porch. It’s vulgar to gossip about family.”

“The thing is,” Pryor continued, “Boone has this problem.” She stared into her glass. “At first, I thought it was me. I felt inadequate, undesirable. My friends were complaining because their husbands wouldn’t leave them alone, and here I was, hardly getting lucky at all. After a year or so it wasn’t unusual for two or three weeks to go by with nothing.” She looked at the older woman. “You do know what I’m talking about?”

“It happens to all of us, eventually.”

Pryor refilled her glass. “But not for a long, long time. Not until middle age when you’re used to each other and it doesn’t matter as much.”

“It always matters.”

“Not like it does when you’re twenty-five. I was too hurt and insecure to wonder if the problem was his. For years we went on that way, stepping around each other, never really addressing the problem.” She shrugged. “Now we’ve leveled out. At some point I woke up and realized sexual frequency had nothing to do with love. I learned to appreciate my husband.” The corners of her mouth tilted up. “Better late than never. Menopause helped and so did all those Viagra ads. I mean, if Bob Dole could appear on national television and talk about erectile dysfunction, then I definitely wasn’t alone. If Elizabeth can tolerate having the world know her husband couldn’t get it up, then I suppose it’s something lots of women go through.” Pryor looked up, embarrassed by her honesty. “Everything’s fine now, except that we have only Whitney. Not that Whitney isn’t a wonderful, wonderful daughter. I wouldn’t give her up for the world. I don’t want you to think I’m not happy with my daughter. It’s just that I wish there were a few more of her.”

Lila Rae stared off into the distance as if deep in thought. “Maybe I’ll take the cruise in September instead of Thanksgiving.” She smiled at her niece. “I wouldn’t worry about Whitney if I were you. She’s a smart girl.”

“She’s invited Gabriel Mendoza and his children for Derby weekend.”

“My goodness.” Lila Rae’s gray eyes widened. “She sounds serious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Pryor, honey, make up your mind. I thought you wanted a family. Seems to me if Whitney marries this Mendoza fellow, you’ll have a ready-made one.”

“California is a long way from here, Lila Rae.”

“It’ll give you an excuse to travel.”

“Boone doesn’t like to travel.”

Lila Rae sighed. “He’ll learn to like it. People make do, Pryor. You can’t have everything the way you want it.”

“Promise me you’ll be here for Thanksgiving.”

“I promise.”