by Janet Dailey
Montgomery looked at the system configuration, just to reassure himself that the extra memory he’d had installed was still there and still available. He’d come close to maxing out what a laptop could hold. But using that memory was the only way he’d be able to fill in the gaps in his own.
He was worried.
In another second, something shorted out in his mind, a black, spreading sensation that lasted several seconds. With a sudden feeling of doom, he remembered that something devastating had happened here in this chair while he was working on this laptop. What was it?
His brain would not cooperate. His memory strained for an answer. Something had happened before the stroke. It had to do with money. And betrayal.
He could just barely recall being overcome by vengeful rage. And then sorrow. The emotions had been connected somehow.
No names came to mind. Except the president’s. The neurologist would have applauded. He was frantic.
He paused, fingers above the keyboard, trying to remember passwords he’d never written down and never saved in the computer.
Again he drew a blank. His heart pounded. Mindful of his blood pressure and the likelihood of another stroke, he endeavored to calm himself by taking deep breaths. That left him light-headed.
What were his passwords?
He racked his brain, realizing with frightened certainty that parts of his memory were wiped as clean as the white-tiled walls of the hospital he’d just left. The stroke had been small, but he was more impaired than anyone seemed to think. Retrieving what he wanted without passwords would require help he couldn’t summon in the middle of the night.
Montgomery sat and stared at the scattering of file icons displayed on the screen, opening each, finding nothing useful. But the last one was a video.
Distracted from his worries, he opened it, jolted by the familiarity of the background. A young woman walked through the old Montgomery mansion. He struggled to remember her name. He knew it. He had to know it. The sensation of pressure in his head eased and it came to him.
Erin Randall.
He slumped back with a sigh of relief. The artist from the historical society, of course. He’d commissioned her to portray his winning horse. That was why she looked as familiar as the hallway she walked through. But—damn it to hell. Some other memory connected to her nagged at him.
When had he last looked at this video? And why had she been recorded doing something that seemed perfectly innocent to him now? He clicked on various little icons, searching for information.
Last opened . . . he peered at the date in the list of information on the file. Aha. He’d looked at it on the day of his stroke. And he’d left it on his screen where he could easily open it again. So it must have been important.
Why?
Anger and frustration bubbled up in him. He paused the video and closed the file, then shut down the laptop, returning it to the hidden compartment with shaking hands, knowing that it held critical information he was in grave danger of losing.
Montgomery told himself not to fall into the holes in his head. Hardly a scientific description, but that was what it felt like to remember some things and not others.
His confusion exhausted him. He wanted to lie down and close his eyes and not think. Montgomery gripped the edge of the desk and got himself up, then walked stiffly out of the room. If he could make it to his bed, he might be able to sleep.
He felt somewhat stronger in the morning, but there still seemed to be odd gaps in his thoughts. Lying on his back and contemplating the ceiling soothed him a little. Montgomery roused himself with an effort and went into his bathroom, where he stared at his face in the mirror. He looked haggard and somehow lost. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, not trusting himself with a razor just yet. But he was damned if he’d ask for help. Somehow he’d gotten into pajamas by himself last night. He didn’t remember how.
Montgomery was glad the night nurse was gone. He usually sat alone at the breakfast table, so it didn’t matter if he looked grizzled and old and sloppy.
He found a bathrobe and put it on, then headed for the stairs. Going down was a test of coordination and balance that made him tremble a little when he felt the parquet of the first floor under his bare feet. He had forgotten to put on slippers.
Like a beacon, the morning sun shone brightly out of the open doorway of the dining room where breakfast was always laid out for whoever wanted it. He went that way. A flash of fear hit him when he saw Vernette and Caroline sitting across from each other at the set table. His unsightly appearance was beside the point. He would have to make conversation. What if his mind went blank again? He would stick to short answers and not ask questions himself.
The nurses were paid to observe him—that was a routine part of their job. Caroline had her own reasons.
Look at her, he thought.
Caro had never come down to breakfast in all the years they’d lived together. Now she’d turned herself into a faux wife overnight. Full makeup. Hair blown smooth and tied back with a ribbon. Everything but the frilly apron.
She looked up when Monty came into the room, startled. Vernette rose immediately.
“Did you come downstairs on your own?” the nurse asked.
“Obviously.” He took the chair she pulled out for him.
“You shouldn’t have done that, honey,” Caroline chided.
The nurse returned to her chair. “I apologize, Mr. Montgomery. It’s my fault for not going up right away. The night nurse said you were sleeping.”
“Yes, I was.”
Caroline made a gracious gesture at a platter of scrambled eggs and bacon, and picked up a set of serving tongs, which she clacked at him.
“What would you like?” she chirped, as if nothing at all was amiss and today was just like every other ordinary day in his life.
“Coffee,” he said. An insulated pitcher had been set on the table near Vernette. “With sugar.”
“No problem.” The nurse poured him a cup and sweetened it with a wink.
She didn’t mean it to be flirtatious, just friendly. Vernette radiated kindness and practicality. Today she was wearing a different-colored scrub top, just as baggy as yesterday’s, and the same thick-soled shoes. In a lot of ways she was the antidote to Caroline. He could use a friend in the house. “Thank you,” he said.
Caroline clacked the tongs again, reminding him of her unwanted presence. “Mon-tee. Pay attention. Eggs? Bacon? What would you like?”
“Just eggs,” he said. “No salt. And no bacon. Doctor’s orders.”
“You do have to get your blood pressure down.” She served up his request and set the tongs on the side of the platter. “I hate to say I told you so.”
“Then don’t.” Montgomery added a slice of dry toast to his plate and ate quickly.
Caroline and Vernette exchanged a look, which he ignored.
“Is there anything you’d like to do today?” the nurse asked him brightly. “I’m here to help.”
Getting down the stairs had seemed like a major accomplishment. What was there for him to do while Caroline was awake and able to snoop?
“I-I’d like to visit the stables. By myself,” he added with a glance at Caroline.
Caroline looked annoyed. “On your first day back? You should rest.”
“I did. I won’t stay in bed all day.”
“If you go, you can’t go alone.”
He brushed a few crumbs from his mouth with a napkin and threw it down on the table. “Don’t tell me where I can go and what I can do, Caro. Is that clear?” He rose unsteadily and Vernette was beside him instantly, offering unobtrusive assistance.
Caroline looked at him with open disgust. “You can’t drive yourself, Monty.”
She was right, but that sharp reminder of his frailty hurt. He stiffened his spine and tried to think of something to say.
“I can take you. Don’t worry,” the nurse told Caroline. “I’ll stay with him every step of the way.”
; Caroline looked even more annoyed when Monty didn’t argue with Vernette.
The task of dressing seemed almost too complicated to bear. But he managed most of it with Vernette’s help. She held on to his shirt. Standing there, he wavered, then looked at her a little desperately.
“Take a few minutes in the armchair,” was all she said. “I’d like to get a baseline BP before we do anything else. Okay with you?”
He nodded and sat without objecting. Her matter-of-fact presence was a comfort. Silently, Montgomery watched her unroll the equipment and get set to take his blood pressure.
A few steady squeezes inflated the cuff, and he matched his breathing to them. Nice and easy. Earpieces of the stethoscope in, she kept an eye on the gauge and a couple of fingers on the cool metal disk at his elbow.
She smiled down at him in a little while. “I like that number. You’re good to go. But you have to let me help you. Skip the macho nonsense, okay?”
“All right,” he muttered.
In another hour he was in the car, in the front seat to the right. Idly, he thought that he had never been a passenger in his own car. The sensation was a strange one.
Vernette checked the backseat, making sure she had what she needed as Montgomery stared through the windshield, ignoring Caroline, who’d come out to see them off and do some conspicuous fussing.
“Are you sure about this, Vernette?” she asked.
“He should be fine,” the nurse replied. “Not like he’s going riding or anything. Just an easy walk through the stables and then we come back here, right, Mr. Montgomery?”
He gave a curt nod, throwing an angry look at Caroline. She backed away as Vernette slid behind the wheel and drove slowly forward on the circular drive.
She stopped and made a right turn onto the winding road that would take them out and away from the house. Montgomery leaned his head back and took in what he saw with a feeling of gratitude so strong it almost made him weep.
The dogwoods were in full bloom. Early flowers sprang at their roots. Green everywhere, unfurling on each twig of the taller trees and shooting up from the moist earth.
He was alive. He was going to make it.
“What a beautiful day,” Vernette said. She seemed just as happy to be away from the house as he was.
“Yes, it is.”
The warm atmosphere of the stables seemed to welcome him—Montgomery felt restored by the mingled smells of hay and horses and manure. One by one, the grooms and trainers stood when he walked by with Vernette, pausing in their routine to greet him the way they always did.
He stopped by the office of the stud operation, exchanging a few words with the two men and one woman there, people who’d been hired when the money was flowing like water. Not by him. Their names escaped him before he could introduce them to Vernette, but he didn’t worry about it. His staff and stable employees were accustomed to lord-of-the-manor indifference from him. It would be a useful screen for his mental lapses. If he was too polite, he’d give himself away.
“Looks like you have work to do,” he said pleasantly enough, waving to the three of them without going in and sitting down to chat.
“This is quite an operation,” Vernette said. “I’m impressed.” She was studying an enormous framed chart on the wall, faded but meticulously hand-lettered, that showed the bloodlines of the most famous Montgomery horses.
“All champions,” he said. “Would you like to meet the latest in the line?”
“Sure.”
He took the arm she offered and they walked slowly to where Take All was stabled. Vernette listened to him talk about the stallion’s wins with interested patience.
Montgomery didn’t have to brag when they reached the stall. The magnificent horse was being groomed by an older man who spoke to him softly, a hint of an Irish accent in the soothing words. Vernette stood and watched, fascinated.
“He gets the royal treatment,” she said softly.
Montgomery nodded. “And he deserves it. He’ll generate millions in stud fees when he retires from the track.”
“Oh. That makes sense. Hey, next time he’s entered in a race, let me know. I want to be in the grandstand cheering him on.” She grinned at Montgomery. “I can’t believe I got to see a famous horse this close.”
“We can come again tomorrow.” His stance wobbled a little and he reached for a thick beam to brace himself. Vernette offered her arm again and he took it, feeling an odd cloudiness begin to drift through his mind. The concerned glances that flew between the groom and trainer and the stablehands went over his head. But he had the last word. “Good work, Freddy,” he said to the groom.
The man looked up, surprised. “Thank you, sir. Take’s in fine fettle, as you can see.”
Montgomery nodded and let Vernette lead him tactfully a little ways on.
“Do you want to sit down?” she asked.
“I think that would be a good idea.”
She looked ahead to a wooden bench, but he shook his head. “Someplace a little less public.”
Vernette understood about male pride. They went another thirty feet or so before she stretched up on tiptoe to look into an empty stall, one of several with no occupants. “How about a bale of hay? They’re stacked two deep in here.”
“Fine.”
She glanced up and down the wide center aisle of the stables. No one was coming their way or even looking at them. Vernette unlatched the stable door and went in with him.
Leaning on her just a little more, Montgomery let her assist him and sat down heavily on the nearest bale.
He sighed with relief. “I really was tired. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she told him. “Do you want to go back? I can probably drive the car over to this wing of the stables.”
“No. Not yet.”
He breathed deeply and stayed where he was.
“Take it easy. Slow and steady. One day at a time.”
“Now where did I hear that before?” he asked wryly, answering his own question before she could. “Oh, right. The neurologist. My memory is shot. Things that are supposed to connect just don’t.”
He stopped himself from saying more. His utter failure to remember his passwords last night wasn’t something he was going to share. Or that bits and pieces of strange dreams were getting in the way of rational thought. He was relying on a way of thinking he’d never trusted: intuition.
She smiled in a kind way that made him nervous. “It comes back. Don’t try to think too much or do too much.”
“Believe me, I can’t.”
“And try not to get angry with yourself.”
He looked at her narrowly. “How did you know I was?”
“You want a straight answer?”
“I think I do.”
Vernette folded her arms across her chest. “Brain events affect personality and perception. Moods can change like that.” She released one hand to snap her fingers. “Angry, happy, confused, sad—and they keep changing. Accepting help means admitting you need it. Men fight it.”
Montgomery managed to laugh. “Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily.”
Her brusque words made sense to him. “Okay. Thanks for the lecture. I needed that.”
“Just so long as you remember it,” she said dryly. “But this place does you good.”
“Hmm.” Getting away from Caroline had something to do with that.
Vernette looked all around her surroundings and up into the rafters, then back at him. “I can see why. This is the first time I’ve been in an actual stable. Although I used to read a lot of horse books when I was a kid. That was as close as I got.”
“I practically grew up in this one. My father taught me everything I know about horses.”
“Lucky you.”
He nodded, not wanting to go on and on like a foolish old man. But what he’d said was true. As a boy, he’d driven out in the morning from the family mansion with his father in the Packard. But not even that glor
ious car could compete with the horses they’d kept then.
Memories flooded his mind, made stronger by the setting. The way his father had lifted him up on a hay bale that scratched his bare calves between his short pants and his socks, making him wait so he could chat with everyone in the stable—or so it had seemed to him at the time. He’d been chucked under the chin and greeted by his nickname. Hughie. How he’d hated the sissy sound of it—and he’d hated getting his hair ruffled almost as much. Montgomery Senior never scolded him when he’d jumped down, eager to be off and hoping to talk a groom into saddling up one of the better-behaved ponies for him to ride.
And at the end of the day, sometimes even far into the night hours, his father would bring him along for one last walk around the barn, seeing that all was well and the horses settled. It was a ritual he’d almost forgotten about in the last years, though he had done the same thing on his own once his father had died.
Not that he’d ever brought his little daughter along. Ann was always in bed by seven. Occasionally she tagged after him during the day, hand in hand with her mother or her nanny. Keeping a respectful distance.
He’d always been too busy. And then, on that horrible night, she had been stolen from her bed. He hadn’t been at home. His eyes filmed with tears that he forced back. He had never come to terms with her loss.
“Mr. Montgomery—”
“What?” His reverie came to an end. He looked at Vernette and heaved a sigh.
“Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “Maybe I should go home.”
“Okay. If you’re ready—” She broke off, startled by the appearance of the man who’d been grooming Take All. Freddy was looking over the stable door at them, his gnarled hands on the top, absently running over the bite marks of countless horses. “Hello. Where did you come from?” Vernette asked.
The groom jerked his head in the direction they’d come from. “From His Majesty’s stall, of course. Sorry to startle you.”
“It’s all right. What is it, Freddy?” Montgomery asked.
“Ah—I just wanted to say, sir, that it’s good to see you back.”
