Cassie stared at the familiar names. She shook her head, pursing her lips. “Louie Picard and Earl Sheraton have been long time friends of Dad’s and mine. I hardly know Troy Jackson, but others claim he’s honest as the day is long.”
Shrugging, she groaned at the last name. “Harrington’s an ass, but I don’t think he would go out of his way to hurt me. And the jocks? They’ve all ridden for me in the last few months. Can’t say much at all about them. They ride, and I pay them.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think it would be that simple,” Clint grunted. “Still, it may prove to be useful information. These are the people with the most access and probably the most to gain from throwing a race. Besides owners and bettors, of course.
“Eight owners have run against you on at least two or more occasions. Anything surprise you on this list?” Clint asked, pressing a button to bring up the owner list.
Again, Cassie studied the names. “Nope. It’s a combination of folks we’ve known forever and a few new faces. But I’ve no reason to suspect one person over the other, or any at all.”
“I’ll try the names out on your father tomorrow morning and see if any name jogs a memory. I’m still guessing that this has more to do with your dad or you than with the filly.”
“What do you mean?”
Pushing away from the desk, Clint grimaced. “Your dad’s been in this business a long time. He’s bound to have made some enemies here and there. Or maybe it’s somebody who doesn’t like the idea of a woman trainer starting off with a stakes contender.”
“I’ve wondered enough about that,” she responded cautiously. “Maybe it’s someone who doesn’t want a woman trainer around, period.”
“Has anyone been ragging on you, giving you a hard time for working at the track?”
“Not unless you count Harrington.”
“Why have you ruled him out from suspicion?” Clint’s expression blended surprise with accusation.
She blushed, remembering that Harrington didn’t trust Clint. Would the two men be friends if it weren’t for her? Probably. They had more in common than either cared to admit, including an overly protective posture toward women.
“Well?”
A corner of her mouth turned up. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I know he was interested in me, but I set him straight about that. I guess I don’t think he’d stoop so low as to drug a horse.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Clint countered. “He didn’t seem very pleased to have another man nosing about trying to find out what was going on with your Hope…” He paused. “Harrington stays on the list.” His voice rose. “Okay?”
“Fine! Both you guys seem to suffer from an excessive amount of male testosterone.”
“Now, what the hell does that mean?”
“Never mind,” she said, turning to march across the small loft room. She was both annoyed and flattered by his display of jealousy.
“You know, what you and I have is very rare,” Clint said, his voice rising a bit. “And it will work if we both let it.”
Cassie tensed. She knew he meant it would work if she let it happen. “Clint, you promised you wouldn’t pressure me.”
“Well, it would work,” he said, ignoring her plea. “We could use this place as our base. Your dad is too frail for us to think about any other arrangement. The kids could go to school here and then maybe spend their summers with their grandmother and great-grandmother. They will want to continue teaching them the ways of our people. But there’s nothing to stop us, if we decide it’s what we want.”
Cassie closed her eyes. He was so determined to work out the practical difficulties—did she dare tell him how terrified she was by the vision of being a wife and mother? She swallowed.
“You could keep your job, whichever one you choose—social worker or horse trainer. I can do my work from here with periodic commutes to the ranch. Silver Hawk could manage things at the ranch nicely and I could continue to travel to the sales. It would all work. Can’t you see that?”
She chewed her trembling lower lip. “I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else—but I can’t see it. Not yet. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see it. You’re not playing fair, Clint Travers. You’re not playing fair at all. You bring the kids here. You have everything worked out.” She turned her back on him. “Well, I don’t. And I’m not ready to do that kind of practical thinking.”
Cassie turned to watch him shove his papers in his briefcase. Why had he pushed, after his promise not to pressure?
He exhaled through pursed lips and said, “You’ve got your meeting with your girlfriends tonight. That’s good. Perhaps we need a little break from each other. Damn, I want all of this horse drugging stuff done so we can concentrate on where we’re going.”
Cassie’s skin crawled as a wave of panic washed over her. The sooner they finished their investigation, the sooner she’d have to sort herself out. Would Clint try to force her to make some big decisions before she was ready? Her shoulders drooped. Trying to keep any telltale sign of emotion from her voice, she responded, “Maybe a little separation would be good for us. Things are tumbling awfully fast.”
The pain on his face nearly crushed her. She placed her arms around him. Pressing her hands against his neck, she rose to meet his lips. She brushed them lightly. He made no attempt to deepen the kiss. Pulling away, she whispered, “I’ll miss you. But we need a little space. How about breakfast tomorrow morning at The Country Café near the track?”
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
He stalked out the door. She closed the door softly behind him, turned and leaned against it. Had she made a mistake? Should she have insisted on sorting things out now and not run the risk of them festering? They both would have to trust the process.
How many times had she said that to other people having relationship problems? She needed more time. But time was running out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Cassie, I know you’re in a quandary, but maybe we can start with a simple question,” Susan Jackson said. “Do you love him?”
Wrapping her arms tightly around her body, Cassie sat with a leg tucked under her on Traci Steele’s love seat. It was Tuesday evening. She and her three friends sat in a circle in the living room of Traci’s upscale Near North high-rise apartment overlooking Lake Michigan. While her own living standard was considerably lower than that of her lawyer friend, this was her life—urban, sophisticated, sleek, cosmopolitan.
Not able to give Susan a quick answer, Cassie stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. She wasn’t ignoring her friends, and they knew it. They honored her need for silence and space. Her situation with Clint and his kids had been the focus of the evening. After a brief check in from everyone over the soup and salad dinner, the group had turned to Cassie. This was her night, and they were there to support her in any way she wanted.
She saw lights blinking on a ship probably several miles out from the shoreline. She wondered if it was coming or going.
Cassie turned to face her friends. Each watched her attentively, but no one made an effort to speak. They must look like a strange quartet to the outside observer. Susan. Prim and proper Susan, dressed in a stylish pink and white pantsuit, as if she had stepped out of the pages of a designer catalogue. Ashton. Ashton of the golden hoop earrings and longish red fingernails. The dark skinned woman wore a wraparound skirt and a silk blouse and there was always that ever present captivating smile, as if she was aware of a secret and just about ready to share it. Traci. High cheek bones, long tan legs. White shorts and an old Harvard sweatshirt gave her an air of cool understated beauty, matching her personality. And Cassie, herself, stood there before them in jeans, comfortable riding boots and a baby blue tank top. What an odd assortment of friends. And yet how right they were for each other. They’d cried together and laughed together. They’d lifted each other up and were also quite capable of holding each other accountable.
Taking a deep breath, Cassie shoved her han
ds in her back pockets. “Okay,” she began, “it’s not going to surprise you that I do love him.”
“Well, hurrah!” Susan squealed.
“Good for you, Cass,” Traci said.
“I’m glad you can admit it to yourself,” Ashton chimed in, lifting her glass of wine.
“But now what?” Cassie groaned, slumping back down on the love seat. “It’s one thing to love him. It’s another to talk about marriage, which I know he wants. And it’s very much another matter entirely to consider being an instant mother.”
“Ah,” sighed Ashton, “we’re back to the old bugaboo of instant motherhood.”
“Yes.”
“But the kids are so cute,” Susan said. “We all enjoyed them so much at the picnic Sunday. Sammy is a delight and Lester is such a little man. How can you resist them?”
Cassie studied Susan for a moment. It was less than two months since Susan had thought Dirk Johnson was perfect for her. Now she was convinced motherhood was just right? “The kids are great. They’re not necessarily the angels you saw at the farm on Sunday, but they’re great kids. The problem isn’t them—it’s me.”
“What do you mean?” Traci asked. “Spell it out. I’m failing to understand the dilemma here. You love the guy. The kids are great. So you get married and live happily ever after. And we hope you’ll continue to come to our group.”
“Oh, I’ll always be part of this group, no matter what happens.” Cassie sat silently for a long while, tugging on the hem of her tank top. When she looked up, her vision was clouded by tears. She caught Ashton’s eye. “You remember when we studied childhood development…the theory goes that a child will develop naturally and well if it has a good enough mother.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m not sure that I can be a good enough mother.”
“What?” Susan and Traci gasped in unison.
Ashton got up, sat next to Cassie, and draped an arm around her. “You know, girl, I’ve known you for some six years or so. You sometimes surprise me with what you have to say. I admit I was a bit shocked when you left your job to go train that horse. I supported you then, and I still do. But what you just said is the biggest crock of bull that I’ve heard from you or anybody else. You’re a natural mother. I certainly didn’t hear Lester or Sammy complaining. Where did you get this idea of not being a good enough mother?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s always been there. And the kids only know me a little, and then part-time. And they want a mother so badly, I doubt they’re the best judges.”
“I think you’re wrong about that,” Susan said. “Kids may be the best judge. I always thought I had good parents. Some of my friends thought they had poor parents, and from what I could see they were probably right.”
Traci uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Cassie, we’ve been friends for a long time—since college. We’ve helped each other through a lot of thick and thin and I’ve never had an inkling how you felt about motherhood. If we’re going to be helpful, I think you’ve got to tell us more. We can’t just change your mind by saying well of course you’d make a super mom, even though we know you would. So what gives? Where is this coming from?”
“Well, what about you Traci? Your mother died when you were young. How have you learned to be a good mother?”
“I don’t know where I learned it. I don’t even know that I will be a good mother, but not knowing won’t keep me from trying if the right man ever shows up.” Traci stood up to retrieve the wine bottle and fill glasses. “Is that what this is all about? You didn’t have a mother through most of your childhood, and therefore you question your own ability to be a mother?”
Cassie grimaced. “Your mother died, Traci. Mine walked away—abandoned me and my father. How do you ever shake that? Her blood runs through my veins. How can I be certain I will do a better job? And I never want to do to a child what she did to me.”
“Wow. That is a load,” Ashton said. “No wonder you’re shaking like a leaf. Maybe I would too, if I had your experience. I didn’t. I was surrounded by loving parents and a large extended family, but I don’t know if that’ll make me a better parent. And when the time comes, I hope to share that role with a father. Clint strikes me as a fine father, loving yet capable of saying no when necessary, and doing so in a kind manner.”
“Oh, Clint is a fabulous father. That makes it even worse. Maybe I won’t live up to his expectations of a mother.”
“Your dad loves you very much,” Susan said, with her own eyes tearing up. “I only knew your aunt briefly, but she seemed to care for you a lot.”
“She did the best she could. She never had any kids of her own, so I guess I was kind of the experiment. We both learned together, I imagine. As far as Dad goes, I know he loves me. And he’s probably taught me more about caring for living things than anyone, but he wasn’t a mother.”
“What about your group home work?” Traci asked. “When I’ve been by there to see you, some of them called you Mama Cass. And I doubt they ever heard of the Mamas and the Papas. The kids seem to respond very well to you.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Cassie said sharply. “I’m a damn good kid worker. But that’s different. I get to go home when the day is done. The kids move on with their lives. I’m just a blip on their life screens. It’s a different level of commitment.”
“Ah, the C word,” Ashton chided gently. “I wondered when we would get around to it. Commitment! Oh, my god, commitment. Yeah, parenting is a long term commitment—for parents who stay together and for parents who split. But not for your mother. She just ran away. Funny, usually it’s the kids who we think of as the runaways, but your mother definitely was a runaway.
“Are you a runaway, Cassie? Have you ever run from anything important in your entire life? How many daughters or sons would have run from your father as hard and fast as they could when he asked them to take a leave of absence to help him chase a long-held dream?
“How many folks, including social workers and many a mom, would have run away from sixteen year old Janice when she got pregnant, thumbed her nose at the system, and told everyone to bug out of her life? You hung in there. She wasn’t able to drive you away. And in the end you were a huge help getting her out of the projects and into a situation where she could make something out of life for herself and for her daughter. You helped her become more than a good enough mom. So what are you running away from? That’s what I want to know. And I’m prepared to sit here as long as it takes to find out.”
Cassie nodded and stood. Again she walked to window. All she could see now was driving rain. It had its own beauty, but she longed for that late night view of the familiar harbor lights. Ashton was right. She was running, or at least in danger of running.
Her childhood hadn’t been terribly unhappy. True, there was a lot of traveling from place to place. Her father could have left her behind, but he didn’t. He’d kept her with him as much as he could and had provided well for her needs. And her aunt had kept a home for all of them. She was never one Cassie felt comfortable confiding in, but then not all mothers probably were, either. She’d always been able to talk with her dad. And he usually had a good listening ear. When she was down, he would always find some Irish tale to cheer her up. When she was elated, he usually found time to celebrate with her. And when a horse won, he would twirl his little girl about as if the best possible thing in the world had just happened for both of them.
There was no question that she’d had an inadequate mother, regardless of what her dad might now say. Even so, she’d grown up in a far from inadequate family. She’d been taught values and resiliency, how to dream and how to work hard, how to laugh and how to love. Maybe it was time to name the beast and move on.
She walked back to join her friends. With her hands clenched at her hips, she said, “You’re right. I’ve been running. Running away from myself, as if that’s even possible. I am scared of being like my mother. But you’ve helped me see that’s not inevitable.” A trace of a s
mile crossed her lips. “It may not even be likely.
“So I’ll quit running. I’ll try to turn around and face it, whatever that means. But I’m still scared. And I don’t know what’s going to come of all of this. But you’ve given me much to think about.” She paused. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”
As was their custom, her friends quickly surrounded her in a circle hug. Tears were matched with laughter.
- o -
By mid-morning Wednesday, Clint sat in a comfortable chair on the O’Hanlon farmhouse porch swapping stories and dreams with Tug O’Hanlon. Cassie had called him just before midnight Tuesday, after picking up her phone messages on her return from Chicago. “Raul asked if I can come in first thing in the morning. They just found Daisy and pumped her stomach—she tried to kill herself. I think I’d better go. This could take most of the day. Can we do breakfast Thursday instead?”
So they’d agreed to meet at the track kitchen for breakfast the following morning. He didn’t question her decision at all. He would have done the same. Seldom had the group home staff called during her leave, but this was one of those exceptional days.
Clint regretted that it had to be on his time. He also was uneasy about the strained words they’d exchanged the day before. He usually thought of himself as a patient man, a very patient man. But he’d recently discovered that jealousy could flow very hot through his veins. He’d never felt that way about any woman, not even his children’s mother.
Although he enjoyed talking with Cassie’s father, he didn’t like being separated from Cassie for even a few hours. Soon he’d be going back to the ranch, and then all they would have would be the telephone and e-mail. He fidgeted, wondering how she was handling the trauma of her day.
“So you think if we bring in some of the California breeding lines, we’ll strengthen our foals?” asked the older man, scrunched up on the edge of his seat.
“Given the breeding history you’ve told me about, it should,” Clint reasoned, dragging his attention back to the white-haired man across from him. Discussing horses would at least provide a welcome distraction from worrying about Cassie. “The Pulpit and his lines should add some vigor to your foal crops. Could give you some interesting nicks in the future.”
Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) Page 19
