True Betrayals

by Nora Roberts

  beg, but she would if there was no other choice. “It’s selfish of me, and not terribly fair, but I want the chance.”

  “It’s too much to ask.”

  “Yes, it is. But I’m asking anyway. I’m your mother. You can’t avoid that. You can choose to avoid me if that’s what you want, but I’ll still be your mother. We’ll have time to see if there’s anything between us. If not, you’ll walk away. I’m betting you won’t walk away.” Naomi leaned forward. “What are you made of, Kelsey? Is there enough Chadwick in there for you to accept a dare?”

  Kelsey angled her chin. It was a risk. Perhaps she’d needed it to be put that way rather than as a request. “I won’t promise a month. But I’ll come.” She was surprised to see Naomi’s lips tremble once before they curved into that cool, steady smile.

  “Good. If I can’t enchant you, Three Willows should. We’ll have to see how much you picked up in those riding lessons.”

  “I don’t get thrown easily.”

  “Neither do I.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  DINNER WITH THE FAMILY WAS A CIVILIZED AFFAIR. EXCELLENT FOOD was served with dignity—like any last meal, Kelsey thought as she spooned up her leek soup. She didn’t want to think of the evening in her father’s house as an obligation, or worse, as a trial, but she knew it was both.

  Philip made casual conversation, but his smile was strained. Since Kelsey had told him of her upcoming visit to Three Willows, he’d been able to think of little else but the past. It seemed disloyal somehow to Candace that his mind should be so full of his first wife, his nights restless and disturbed by memories of her. No matter how often he told himself it was illogical, foolish, even indulgent, he couldn’t quite chase away the fear that he was losing the child he’d fought so hard to keep.

  A woman now. He had only to look at her to be reminded of that. Yet he had only to close his eyes to remember the girl. And the guilt.

  Milicent waited until the roast chicken was served. Normally, she disliked discussing unpleasant matters over a meal. But, as she saw it, she’d been given no choice.

  “You leave tomorrow, I’m told.”

  “Yes.” Kelsey took a sip from her water glass. Watched the thin lemon slice dip and float. “First thing in the morning.”

  “And your job?”

  “I’ve resigned.” Kelsey lifted a brow in challenge and acknowledgment. “It was little more than volunteer work. I may look for something at the Smithsonian when I get back.”

  “It may be difficult to get anything with your record of coming and going.”

  “It may.”

  “The Historical Society’s always looking for an extra pair of hands,” Candace put in. “I’m sure I could put in a word for you.”

  “Thank you, Candace.” Always the peacemaker, Kelsey thought. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Maybe you’ll catch racing fever.” Channing winked at Kelsey. “Buy yourself some stud and make the circuit.”

  “That would hardly be acceptable, or wise.” Milicent dabbed a napkin at her lips. “Such things may seem romantic and exciting at your age, Channing, but Kelsey’s old enough to know better.”

  “It sounds like a great deal to me, hanging out at the stables, placing a few bets at the track.” He shrugged, making quick work of his dinner. “I wouldn’t mind spending a few weeks playing in the country.”

  “You could visit me. It’d be fun.”

  “Is that all you can think of?” Incensed, Milicent set her fork down with a clatter. “Fun? Have you no idea what this is doing to your father?”

  “Mother—”

  But Milicent overrode Philip’s objection with an impatient wave of her hand. “After all the pain and unhappiness we went through, to have that woman simply snap her fingers to make Kelsey come running. It’s appalling.”

  “She didn’t snap her fingers.” Under the table, Kelsey balled her hands into fists. It would be much too easy to create a scene, she told herself. “She asked, I agreed. I’m sorry if this hurts you, Dad.”

  “My concern’s for you, Kelsey.”

  “I wonder . . .” Candace spoke up, hoping to ward Milicent off and salvage some of the evening. “Is it really necessary for you to stay there? It’s only an hour or so away, after all. You could move more slowly, go out on a weekend now and then.” She glanced toward Philip to gauge his reaction, then smiled bolsteringly at Kelsey. “It seems more sensible.”

  “If she was sensible, she would never have gone out there.”

  Kelsey bit back a sigh at her grandmother’s comment and sat back. “It’s not as if I’ve signed a contract. I can leave at any time. I want to go.” This she addressed to her father. “I want to find out who she is.”

  “Sounds natural to me,” Channing said over a bite of chicken. “If I’d found out I had a long-lost mother who’d done time, that’s what I’d do. Did you ask her what it was like inside? I’m a sucker for those women-in-prison movies.”

  “Channing.” Candace’s voice was a horrified whisper. “Must you be so crude?”

  “Just curious.” He speared a perfectly boiled new potato. “Bet the food sucked.”

  Delighted with him, Kelsey let out a laugh. “I’ll be sure to ask her. God, are Channing and I the only ones around here who don’t see this as some drawing-room melodrama? You should be relieved I’m not running traumatized to some therapist or washing my shock away with cheap wine. I’m the one who has to make the adjustments here, and I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You’re thinking only of yourself,” Milicent said between stiffened lips.

  “Yes, I am. I’m thinking of myself.” Enough was enough, Kelsey decided, and she pushed back from the table. “It might interest you to know that she had nothing but good things to say about you,” she told her father. “There’s no insidious plot to turn me against you. And nothing could.” She walked to him, bending down to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Candace. I really have to get home and finish packing. Channing, if you have a free weekend, give me a call. Good night, Grandmother.”

  She hurried out. The moment she shut the door behind her, she took a deep gulp of air. It tasted like freedom, she thought. She intended to enjoy it.

  In the morning, Gertie met Kelsey at the door. “You’re here.” The woman snatched Kelsey’s suitcases before Kelsey could object. “Miss Naomi’s down to the stables. We didn’t know what time you’d come, so she told me to call her when you got here.”

  “No, don’t bother her. I’m sure she’s busy. Let me take those. They’re heavy.”

  “I’m strong as an ox.” Gertie backed up, still beaming. “I’ll show you up to your room. You just bring yourself, that’s all.”

  She might have been small and thin, but Gertie strode effortlessly up the stairs, chattering. “We got everything ready. It’s good to be busy again. Miss Naomi, she doesn’t take any care at all. Hardly needs me around.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Oh, for company, she does. But she eats like a bird and does for herself mostly before I can do for her.” Gertie led the way down a wide hall, carpeted in faded cabbage roses. “Sometimes she has people over, but not like there once was. Used to be there was always people and parties.”

  She stepped across a threshold and set both cases on an elegant four-poster bed.

  The room streamed with light from a double window seat that faced the hills, the long slim windows overlooking the gardens. Deep colors and floral accents gave the room an elegant, European feel.

  “It’s lovely.” Kelsey stepped to a cherry vanity table where tulips speared up out of fluted crystal. “Like sleeping in a garden.”

  “It was your room before. ’Course it was done up different then, all pink and white—like a candy cane.” Gertie gnawed at her lip when she saw the surprise in Kelsey’s eyes. “Miss Naomi said if you didn’t like it, you could take the room across the hall.”

  “This is fine.” She waited fo
r a moment, wondering if she’d be bombarded with some sensory memory. But all she felt was curiosity.

  “Your bathroom’s through here.” Anxious to please, Gertie opened a door. “You just ask if you need any more towels. Or anything, anything at all. I’ll go call Miss Naomi.”

  “No, don’t.” On impulse Kelsey turned away from the suitcases. “I’ll go on down. I can unpack later.”

  “I’ll do that for you. Don’t you worry about that. You go on down and have a nice visit, then you can have lunch. You want to button that jacket. The air’s chilly.”

  Kelsey fought back a smile. “All right. I’ll be back for lunch.”

  “Make your mama come. She needs to eat.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Kelsey left Gertie happily opening the suitcases. It was tempting to do a quick turn around the house, to poke into rooms and explore hallways. But it could wait. The day might have held the chill of the dying winter, but it was gloriously sunny. And, Kelsey hoped as she went out, promising.

  She wasn’t going to start the visit by chasing at shadows. It would have to be done, of course. Still, it seemed harmless to enjoy one uncomplicated day in the country, with the smells of hardy spring blooms and new grass in the air, the panorama of hills and horses and sky. She could look on it, at least for now, as a short vacation. Until she’d literally packed her bags, she hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed to get away from the confinement of her apartment, the fill-in job, the tedious routine of learning to be single again.

  And here, she thought as she caught the first poignant smell of horse, was something else to be learned, after all. She knew nothing about the racing world, nothing of the people and little of the animals that composed it.

  So, she would study and find out. It seemed to follow that the more she discovered, the better she would understand her mother.

  As before, there was activity at the stables, horses being walked or washed, men and women carrying tack, hauling wheelbarrows. Kelsey tolerated the sidelong glances and outright stares and walked inside.

  A groom was bandaging a mare’s legs in the first box. Kelsey hesitated when he cut his eyes up to hers. His eyes were shadowed under the bill of his cap, and his face was incredibly old, cracked like neglected leather left in the sun.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for Ms. Chadwick.”

  “Grew up, did ya?” The man shifted a tobacco plug into the pocket of his cheek. “Heard you was coming. There now, sweet thing, hold your water.”

  It took Kelsey a moment to realize the last comment was addressed to the mare and not to her. “Is something wrong with her?” Kelsey asked. “The horse?”

  “Just a little sprain. Old she is, but still likes to run. You remember the days, don’t you, girl? Won her first race and her last, and a goodly number between. Twenty-five she is. Was a spry young filly when you last saw her.” His grin, mostly toothless, flashed. “Don’t remember, I expect, her nor me. I’m Boggs. Put you up on your first pony. Forget how to ride, have you?”

  “No. I can ride.” Kelsey reached out a hand to stroke the old mare’s cheek. “What’s her name?”

  “Queen Vanity Fair. I just call her Queenie.”

  The mare whickered, her soft brown eyes looking deeply into Kelsey’s. “She’s too old to race now,” Kelsey murmured.

  “Or to breed. Queenie’s in retirement, but she gets to thinking she’s still a girl and kicks up her heels. If I was to bring a saddle in here, her ears would perk right up.”

  “She can still be ridden, then?”

  “With the right rider. Your ma’s in the breeding shed, out the back, to your left. Big doings today.”

  “Oh. Thank you . . .”

  “Boggs. Welcome home.” He turned back, running his gnarled, callused hands as gently as silk over the mare’s legs. “Best to wear boots around here next time.”

  “Yes.” Nonplussed, Kelsey looked down at her soft Italian flats. “You’re right.”

  She walked through the stables, pausing with a quick look over her shoulder before stopping by Serenity’s box. She was rewarded by a welcoming snort and nuzzle.

  Outside, she didn’t require Boggs’s directions. There was enough activity around the outbuilding to the left to have drawn her in any case.

  She recognized Gabe, and was torn for a moment as to who looked more magnificent, he or the rearing chestnut stallion he was fighting to control. He stood at the horse’s head, boots planted, muscles straining, the reins shortened while the stallion quivered and called.

  His own hair flying in the breeze, Gabe tossed back his head and laughed. “Anxious, are you? Don’t blame you a bit. Nothing like having a beautiful female ready for sex to get the blood moving. Hello, Kelsey.” He continued to control the stallion without looking around. He’d known she was there. He almost believed he’d smelled her, as the stallion scented the mare. “You’re just in time for the main event. Aren’t skittish, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Good. Naomi’s inside with the mare. Longshot and Three Willows are about to breed a champion.”

  Kelsey skimmed her gaze over the horse. Handlers were positioned around him, helping Gabe to keep the stud from charging the shed. Magnificent he was, his coat already gleaming like flame from sweat, his eyes fierce, his muscles bunched.

  “You’re going to turn him loose on some poor, unsuspecting mare?”

  Gabe grinned. “Believe me, she’ll be grateful.”

  “She’ll be terrified,” Kelsey disagreed, and strode into the shed. She saw her mother and Moses calming the mare, who looked to be every bit as eager to get on with things as the stallion. She, too, was a chestnut, as regal as her intended mate. Even though she was hobbled, protected at the neck by a thick jacket of leather and canvas, she looked proud and valiant.

  “Kelsey.” Covered with grime and sweat, Naomi wiped a hand over her brow. “Gertie was supposed to let me know when you got here.”

  “I told her not to bother. I’m in the way?”

  “No . . .” Naomi looked doubtfully at Moses. “But things are about to get a little frantic. And graphic.”

  “I know a little about sex,” Kelsey said dryly.

  “Stay here,” Moses added, “and you’ll learn more. She’s ready,” he said to one of the handlers.

  “Keep back out of the way,” Naomi warned her daughter. “This isn’t as simple as an hour in the local motel.”

  She could smell the sex. Even as Gabe and his handlers brought the stallion in, the air in the shed thickened with it. Sharp, edgy, elemental. The mare called out, in protest or welcome, and the stallion answered with a sound that caused something to tighten in Kelsey’s stomach.

  Orders were given; movements were quick. In a powerful lunge, the stallion reared up and mounted the mare. Wide-eyed, Kelsey stared as Moses stepped in and assisted in the most technical aspect of the coupling. Then her breath caught as she saw why the mare wore the leather neck cover. Surely the stallion would have bitten through her flesh without it. He plunged wildly, his need frantic and somehow human.

  He covered her, commanding, demanding. She accepted, her eyes rolling in what Kelsey thought must surely be pleasure.

  Hardly realizing it, she moved closer, fascinated by the passionate frenzy of mating. Her own heart was pounding, her blood hot. The quick, sharp pang of arousal staggered her.

  She found herself looking at Gabe. Sweat was running down his face. His muscles strained against his shirt. And his eyes were on hers. It was shocking to see her own primitive and unexpected reaction mirrored there. Staggering to have the vision flash through her mind of being taken as the mare was being taken, fiercely, violently, heedlessly.

  He smiled, a slow movement of lips that was both arrogant and charming. Smiled, she thought, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if he’d intended her to think it.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Naomi stepped back beside her. It was the third mare they’d bred that morning and her body
was aching with the effort. “Hundreds of pounds lost in the most basic of needs.”

  “Does it—” Kelsey cleared her throat. “Does it hurt her?”

  “I doubt she notices if it does.” Out of her back pocket Naomi took a plain blue bandanna to mop her damp throat. “Some stallions breed very kind, like a shy or longtime lover.” She grinned wryly at the panting horses. “There’s not a shy bone in that one’s body. He’s a beast. And what woman doesn’t want a beast now and again?” She glanced at Moses.

  The intellect, Kelsey thought as her pulse danced. It would be better, or at least more comfortable, to explore the logistics. “How do you choose which stallion for what mare?”

  “Bloodlines, dispositions, tendencies, even color. We make up genetic charts. Then you cross your fingers. Christ, I know it’s a