They followed the path that circled the stallion barn complex, then head out into the pasture where she gave the horse some slack in the reins and squeezed her thighs. He galloped at a fast pace with hooves thundering on the snow-packed grass. They raced alongside the fence that stitched a meandering seam through acres of rolling hills. When they reached the corner of the pasture, she turned and headed north, arriving at the one place everyone had told her to avoid—the cemetery.
After a cautious look around the knoll, she dismounted and tied the reins to a wrought-iron fence encircling the small cemetery nestled under a large oak tree. The massive branches testified to its age, old and endearing, and probably planted at the same time the MacKlennas dug the first grave.
Thomas MacKlenna’s monolith commanded the plot of ground filled with a couple of dozen graves. The gate squeaked when she pushed it ajar. Careful not to walk on a grave, she sidestepped her way to the farm founder’s monument and read the inscription on the native limestone marker:
THOMAS SEAN MACKLENNA II
He saw what others did not.
He lived what others could not.
He dreamed what others dared not.
JANUARY 25, 1770—JANUARY 25, 1853
The wind slithered by her, rustling a pile of dead leaves in the fencerow, sounding like whisperings of indiscernible secrets. A double layer of goose bumps covered her arms. Circling the cemetery, she found Sean and Mary’s markers. A year earlier, Kit had stood over her parents’ graves. Grief was not foreign to Meredith. How was Kit coping with the anniversary? Probably similar to the way Meredith coped—with tears.
She brushed snow from a concrete bench and sat. There had been so much heartache and more to come, at least for her.
“It’s all behind you,” Elliott had said. “You beat the odds.” But she hadn’t beaten anything, except her heart into an unrecognizable shape, and since it wasn’t a pliable organ, it couldn’t be returned to its original condition.
A swirl of light and white vapor appeared in front of her. She jumped up, retreating toward the wrought iron fence behind her, but she tripped over a footstone and landed flat on her back in the snow. The body of a person began to form. First the legs, then the torso, arms, and head. She could see through him, but his form and features were very distinctive. He wore a double-breasted frock coat with a wide velvet collar, a fancy silk vest, and an ascot. His eyebrows furrowed, then released.
“It’s you,” Meredith said.
He held out his hand to help her up, but her hand passed through his. She scrunched her face, relieved that she was wearing gloves. Okay, that was weird.
He made an elegant bow, lifting his hat and fixing her with an enchanting smile.
“You’re Cullen Montgomery. Why are you here?”
Stormy neighed softly, and the ghost patted the horse’s head. His big brown eyes stared at the ghost, unafraid. The ghost looked at Stormy, then at Meredith, then back at Stormy. The horse nodded his head as if the ghost was communicating with him.
“I can’t tell what you’re trying to say to me,” Meredith said.
The ghost took flight and floated above the cemetery, swirling around headstones until he perched atop a granite stone in the back corner. Meredith read the inscription beneath him.
KATHLEEN KOONCE MACKLENNA
Lived her life as a gracious Southern woman
OCTOBER 14, 1930—DECEMBER 1, 2008
“This is Granny Mac’s grave, isn’t it?” Meredith asked.
The ghost rested his elbows on his knees, nodding slowly.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” She let out a weak laugh. “What do you want me to know?”
His eyes darkened, reminding her of her father. He ran his hand along the edge of the monument, floating above the headstone again before evaporating in the cold December air.
She turned in frantic, dizzying circles searching for him, peering into shadows and behind monuments. “Come back,” she pleaded, but he didn’t reappear.
Kit’s grandmother and I have nothing in common.
Nothing? What about Granny Mac’s cancer? Panic gushed into Meredith’s throat. When Granny Mac lay dying, Elliott never left her side. He cleaned up after her and sang to her. Is that what her ancestor wanted her to know? That Elliott would take care of her. The thought of Elliott cleaning up after her or wiping sweat from her hairless head made her sick. She rushed the fence and threw up on the other side of the wrought iron.
That won’t happen. I’ll never tell him.
Gripping the fence’s spindles, she slid to the ground and wept. Snow seeped into her riding pants, chilling her, and she began to shiver from cold and fear.
Get up. You can’t stay here like this.
She stood, legs shaky. What in God’s name had happened? Her resolve and fearlessness were melting faster than snow during an early March warm spell. Unless she stopped the thaw, she’d be nothing but a puddle of muddy water, useless for anything more than growing weeds. Everyone told her to stay away from the cemetery. Why hadn’t she ridden in the opposite direction?
Meredith grabbed Stormy’s reins, jumped up on the crumbling rock wall adjoining the cemetery, mounted, then galloped into the brisk December wind with tears forming icicles on her lashes.
Chapter Fifty
The Cottage at MacKlenna Farm – December 31
ELLIOTT SAT AT the head of the conference table, striving to present an image of authority instead of an invalid. He and David had gone two rounds over Elliott’s insistence that he sit in a conference chair. David wouldn’t budge, insisting Elliott needed the support of the wheelchair’s leg extension. Now that the meeting steered into a second hour, he had to admit losing the bruising match had enabled him to keep his mind focused on business, not on pain.
Jim Manning, with Harrison’s assistance, had spent the first hour explaining to the five members of the board of directors the ramifications in the event the insurance company refused to pay the claim. At the end of Manning’s presentation, the board moved into executive session, excluding Doc, Harrison, Jake, and Allie. As the board’s attorney, Manning stayed.
The chairman of the board asked Elliot, “Now that we know we might have to liquidate assets or sell a portion of the farm, what’s your plan to prevent that from happening?”
“Find the person responsible,” Elliott said.
“And if you can’t?” the chairman fired back.
“Prepare for a lawsuit.” Elliott put a leash on his frustration while the board members grumbled among themselves.
Manning stacked his papers, slipped them into his briefcase, and clicked the latch. The sound drew attention to him. “We have a handful of detectives working on this. We’ll find who did it.”
“Harrison usually notifies me when he has unusual expenditures. Who’s paying the bill?” the only female board member, a retired financial controller, asked.
Elliott tented his fingers. “I don’t want anyone outside of this room to know what we’re doing. To protect the integrity of the investigation, I paid the advance.”
“That says to me you suspect someone on staff,” she said.
Elliott shook his head. “It’s only to prevent unintentional leaks.”
“What have your detectives discovered?” The chairman’s Groucho Marx’s bushy brows formed a straight line above his nose.
“When we have something, we’ll give you a report. For now, it’s best for the farm if information concerning the direction of the investigation is limited to those who need to know.”
Another board member pushed his chair away from the conference table, scraping the floor. “You suspect one of us?”
“Hell, calm down.” Elliott’s tone matched the ripple of tension in the room. “You wouldn’t have learned about the investigation if I doubted the integrity of the board.”
The chairman folded his notebook with a snap. “I think we’re done here.” He stood. “Keep us in the loop with whatever you
can share.”
Elliott sucked in a breath of relief as the board members gathered their coats and left the room.
Jim took a sip of bottled water. “David and Chuck might not find the person responsible for killing Galahad.”
Elliott wheeled the chair away from the table and turned toward the window’s scenic view of the paddocks and stallion barns. “I’ve lived on MacKlenna Farm and loved it for almost thirty years. If it loses its reputation and assets over this incident, I personally will be held accountable. Two-hundred years of honor and tradition will come to an end, and so will my tenure.”
“No one will ask for your resignation.” Jim tossed the empty water bottle into the trashcan as if it were a basketball.
“They won’t have to.”
Manning shrugged. “Well, it won’t be accepted.”
Elliott inhaled deeply, hearing the whisper of breath at the back of his throat. Then he exhaled, letting go of a bit of stress. “You’re coming to the party, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Now, tell me about Meredith Montgomery. She’s not your usual playmate.”
“She’s not a playmate. And as soon as this mess with Galahad is resolved and I can walk again, we’re leaving the country for a long vacation.”
“Doesn’t she have a launch coming up?”
“I’m sure her underlings can handle most of it.”
Jim leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest. “If you think that, you don’t know her very well. Have you read the article in Wine Digest? If not, read it. You might learn something about this woman you profess to be so interested in.”
“I don’t drink wine. Why would I read a magazine devoted to it?”
Jim shook his head. “Sometimes you can be the biggest ass. Are you looking for a way to sabotage the relationship? If so, you’ll manage to do that before the weekend is over.”
Elliott pshawed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No. I’m just a dumb ex-jock you pay five-hundred thousand dollars in legal fees to every year.”
“She had breast cancer.” The words shot out, loud and distracting like his deer-hunting rifle.
“How long ago?”
“Five years.”
“What’s your problem? You think your dick will catch it like an STD?”
“What if it comes back?”
Jim pushed away from the conference table and joined Elliott at the window. “This isn’t about Meredith having cancer. This is about you taking a risk and loving someone who might leave you.”
Everyone does. Why not her? “Go to work.”
“I am at work,” Jim said.
“Counseling isn’t your expertise.”
Jim loosened his tie. “The hell it isn’t. That’s half of what I do for you.”
“I need a drink.”
“You need therapy, and I’m tired of telling you.”
“How come our conversations always end in the same place?”
“You tell me. You’re brilliant at what you do. You have one of the most recognizable and regarded names in the Thoroughbred industry, and I’m talking worldwide. You have the perfect blend of business acumen, horse sense, and marketing ability. But when it comes to your health and your personal life, you’re fucked up.”
“She loves Scotland, horses, and whiskey.”
“Well, there you go. She’s definitely your kind of woman.”
“And she can sit a horse. Look.” Elliott pointed out the window. Meredith cantered Stormy toward the stallion barn. God, she looked gorgeous. Perfectly aligned in the saddle; as perfectly aligned as she had been riding Elliott hours earlier. His dick hardened, and he shifted slightly in the wheelchair.
“You really should read that article. Besides being an equestrian, beautiful, and wealthy, her handicap would put most golfers to shame.” Jim slipped on his overcoat and picked up his briefcase. “Think about what I said. I still have that list of psychiatrists for you to consider. Maybe I’ll email you the names because you’ll never ask. At least if you have the list, you might get a hair up your ass one day and make the call.”
David knocked before entering the room. “Your trainer is here.”
Jim walked toward the door. “I heard Wynonna is performing at the shindig. My bride and I are looking forward to it.”
“That’s why I didn’t want the board to know any more than necessary. There’re no secrets on this farm.” David pushed Elliott out into the hall.
“Call me if you need anything,” Manning said on his way out.
When they were alone, Elliott asked David, “Did you talk to Meredith this morning?”
He wheeled Elliott into the exercise room located off the kitchen. “She looked rested and excited to go riding.”
“Tell her I’d like to have lunch with her.”
“If I don’t see her before I leave, I’ll tell Kevin to give her the message.”
Elliott stripped off his sweater and put on a University of Kentucky t-shirt. “You still on track to finish canvassing Jefferson County construction companies today?”
David helped Elliott ease to the exercise bench, where he slipped off his one shoe and dropped his trousers. “And Jeffersonville, Indiana. Then we’ll head east.”
Elliott pulled up a pair of gym shorts. “We’ve got to get a break.”
“We’ve got too many people working this case not to find Gates. I’ll call if I have any news. I won’t get back until late tonight.”
Ted walked in carrying two bottles of water. “You ready to start? This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Don’t kill him,” David said to Elliott’s trainer. “He’s got a bonny lass waiting for him.”
Ted laughed. “We’ve been working together—what?—ten years now. I don’t think there’s ever been a time when a beautiful woman wasn’t waiting.”
“This one’s different,” Elliott said.
“Wow.” Ted widened his eyes for emphasis. “I think I heard that back in the summer and before that, hmm, February maybe, and before that—”
Elliott did an iPhone swipe with his finger. Instead of changing screens, he changed the conversation. “Let’s get to work. And don’t hurt my fucking leg.”
Chapter Fifty-One
MacKlenna Farm – December 31
MEREDITH STOOD UNDER jets of pulsing, hot water, letting the cemetery trauma wash down the drain. Was the inference she drew the one her ancestor intended? She had no way of knowing, so she had to let it go. If Elliott knew something had upset her, he’d drag out the reason. Which one do you want to hear? That Kit’s ghost is my great-great-great-great-grandfather or that I have cancer. You can’t deal with either one. And neither could she. Not today.
She turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Today, she needed to review Springsteen’s tour rider and the downtime rider to be sure she met all accommodations. Bruce and the band’s requirements for some semblance of home on the road were quirky, but not as outrageous as other celebs she’d dealt with. A guitar security guard, cinnamon raisin bagels, fresh fruit, and whey powder she could handle, but the request for Beluga caviar didn’t belong with the band’s working class image. Quirky. You bet.
She rubbed a three-butter lotion bar on her arms, breasts, belly, and freshly shaved legs while still warm and damp, hydrating her skin and giving it a naturally sweet chocolate and fresh scent. She’d discovered yesterday that Elliott found the aroma of unrefined cocoa butter intoxicating, and he couldn’t stop lapping her up with an erotic dance of his tongue. She shivered, deliciously wanting more.
Her cell phone rang with a call from an 859 number she didn’t recognize. “Meredith Montgomery,” she said.
“This is Kevin. I’m coordinating calendars. Are you free for lunch at one o’clock?”
The clock on the bedside table read eleven-fifteen. “Are we eating at the mansion or here?”
“The mansion.”
“I’ve got some work to do that will kee
p me busy until the last minute. I’ll meet him there. Does he have anything on his calendar for this afternoon?”
“I know he was checking the movie listings, in case you’re interested.”
“Thanks, Kevin. We’ll talk about it at lunch.”
Quickly, she dried her hair, put on makeup, and dressed in jeans and a sweater. Before pulling up the contract, she set the alarm on her computer.
At twelve-fifteen, she hurried over to the mansion.
Parked in the driveway were service trucks with logos indicating that a florist, a catering business, and an electrician were on site. As soon as Meredith entered the house, she considered turning around and leaving. Chaos abounded. The cleaning crew busily dusted and vacuumed, four women with baskets of flowers filled vases and containers with gorgeous color, and two men with J&H Electrical on their jackets tracked snow into the clean foyer to the disapproval of the cleaning staff.
Then she heard Elliott’s voice booming above the commotion. “We’re having a hell of a party. Don’t fuss at me.”
Louise hustled down the hallway toward Meredith. “Thank God yer here. Take him. We don’t care where. Just get him out of the house. He’s driving us nuts.”
Meredith laughed. “So what’s new?”
“Nothing a’tall, dearie. Just please put him somewhere he can’t cause trouble.”
Kevin burst from the parlor. “Take one of the limos.” He handed her a printout of movie listings. “Wynonna’s entourage is due here for rehearsal, and we’re not ready. Cameron Thomson just arrived from Scotland with the food, and Mrs. Collins is shooing everyone from her kitchen.”
“And I haven’t had a chance to say more than hello to Evelyn,” Louise said.
“I’ll kill him if he doesn’t get out of here,” Allie said, following on Kevin’s heels. “He expects a minute-by-minute accounting. We’ve got everything under control but him.”
Meredith pressed her hand against her mouth to hide a smile. Her staff would have similar complaints. “Where is he?”
The Last MacKlenna Page 29
