Kentucky Rich

by Fern Michaels

  The woman from the agency arrived two days later in a sleek silver Corvette that spit gravel behind it as it roared up the driveway. The car skidded to a stop by the front steps leading up to the house. Her name was Arabella Consuela Magdalena Smith. Carmela announced her arrival in a breathless voice.

  Nealy raised her head and immediately jumped to her feet, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Uh . . . hello . . . Miss Smith.” She was a vision. Of what, Nealy wasn’t sure.

  “Hi, doll!” Arabella said flippantly. “The agency sent me. Here’s my résumé and my references.” She glanced around. Her eyes were the color of the Mediterranean, and they sparkled and glistened. “Boy, this sure is a small office. Don’t you have a bigger one? When things get slow, I like to turn on the radio and dance. With the door closed, of course,” she said, smiling to show exquisite pearly white teeth.

  “I’m afraid this is all we have at the moment, Miss Smith.” Who was this woman?

  “Call me Smitty. Everyone else does. I guess it will have to do if this is all you have. My hours are nine to five. Three weeks’ vacation, twelve sick days, and no weekends. I’m a hard worker. I expect a bonus at Christmastime. Ten percent of my salary. That’s fair. I don’t negotiate. Simply don’t believe in it. My work speaks for itself. I have initiative, and I use it.”

  Carmela made a strangled sound in her throat. Nealy risked a glance in the housekeeper’s direction but immediately returned to the voluptuous Arabella Consuela Magdalena Smith. Nealy was out of her depth, and she knew it. She’d never hired anyone before. Hunt didn’t qualify since she’d offered him a job when he hadn’t been seeking one. Was it possible the agency had told the woman the job was hers?

  Nealy eyed the woman in front of her, waiting for her gut instinct to kick in. She was tall, perhaps five-foot-nine or -ten. Proportioned perfectly, with the longest, shapeliest legs Nealy had ever seen outside of a horse. Her hair was thick and black, and it went in all directions. A well-preserved forty if she’s a day, she thought. Tawny skin, very little makeup, beautiful eyes, with thick, lustrous lashes. Maud would have called them bedroom eyes. She almost said, let me see your teeth again to see if they were real, but then the woman smiled and she knew they were real because one of them was slightly crooked.

  “You’re trying to figure me out, right? Portuguese with a splash of Spanish and Irish. My father was a dentist.” She smiled again to show off her father’s handiwork. Nealy blinked, then nodded nervously.

  “Do you . . . always . . . what I mean is do you normally dress this way or is this your . . . interview outfit?” My God, did I just ask that?

  “I always try to dress my best. This is pretty much the way I go to work. I wear a lot of black, slimming, if you know what I mean. If you think this is too conservative, I can find other things to wear.”

  Nealy eyed the woman’s outfit. She was wearing a skintight rubber suit that was in actuality buttery-soft leather, dark stockings, and high-heeled boots that went up to mid-calf. A handbag the size of an overnight travel bag hung from her shoulders.

  “We’re pretty informal around here,” Nealy said. “You can wear jeans and shirts if you like.” Damned if that didn’t sound like the job was a done deal. She heard Carmela croak with surprise. “Do you know anything about managing an office?”

  “Just call me the paperwork queen. I can type a hundred-twenty words a minute or as fast as you can talk, and I’m a filing whiz. I can do payroll, payroll taxes, monthlies, quarterlies, and annual reports. I can even do your taxes.”

  Nealy’s mouth dropped open. After a moment, she asked, “Do you like horses?”

  “Doll, I love horses. That’s how I got that fancy set of wheels out there. I win all the time because I don’t allow myself to get in over my head. But if you mean do I like horses as in do I like to be around them, yes, as long as they don’t get too close. I got bit in the butt once as a kid and haven’t forgotten the pain and the humiliation.” She glanced around the room again. “I wish this office was bigger. Do those windows open? Can’t you knock out a wall or something?” she said breezily.

  Nealy didn’t see where the problem was. She liked cozy little places. “Well . . . I . . . I guess I could look into it.” Nealy glanced over at Carmela, then back at Miss Smith. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen with Carmela and have some coffee while I go through your résumé and check your references.”

  Miss Smith gave Carmela a thorough once-over. “I’ll take it with a shot of bourbon just the way Maud used to take hers. You aren’t a true Kentuckian if you don’t drink bourbon.”

  Nealy’s eyelashes flew up in surprise. “You knew Maud?”

  “Sure did. Knew Jess, too. I was sorry to hear they passed on. Nice people. Good people. I used to sit in their box at Derby time. Course I was younger then. My daddy was Maud and Jess’s dentist. Years ago, Maud used to play poker with my mama.”

  Nealy closed the folder. “You’re hired,” she said, feeling as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “Now, let’s discuss your salary. Carmela, fetch Miss . . . Smitty some coffee, please. The way Maud drank it.”

  An hour later when the Corvette roared back down the driveway, Carmela snapped, “I can’t believe you hired that . . . that . . . floozie.”

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Carmela. Her résumé is impressive and her references impeccable. And it sounds to me like Maud and Jess liked her. That’s enough for me.”

  “If her references are so good, why is she looking for a job, huh?” Carmela raised an arthritic finger and shook it at Nealy. “Mark my words. There’s going to be trouble with that one.”

  “I’ll deal with it if it happens. If you don’t like her, stay out of her way. You certainly are cranky today, Carmela.”

  Carmela didn’t bother to reply but marched out of the room, her shoulders stiff, the empty coffee mug in her hand.

  11

  Nealy’s smile was as big as all outdoors as she leaned against the paddock’s white board fence. Two days ago she’d stirred things up all over again by making another unorthodox decision to put Flyby, Little Lady, and Stardancer in adjoining paddocks. She knew that with almost any other stallion she would be taking a huge risk, but not with Dancer. More often than not, a stallion would go after a colt with the intention to kill it, but Dancer had proved to be that rare exception. He wasn’t the least bit aggressive. That trait alone gave her all the confidence she needed to test and prove her theory that the little family could bond together. Now the threesome grazed and exercised in sight of each other.

  Nealy loved watching the colt and his dam, loved being near Dancer in the adjoining paddock. She remembered how the colt had first wobbled up on his skinny legs, and now he was dancing in the meadow. At times it seemed like he could float like a butterfly. He was curious and playful, but after his frolicking he always returned to his mother’s side, where it was safe. “You want out there, don’t you, big boy?” Nealy whispered as she craned her head backward so the stallion could hear her. She turned around and slipped him a wintergreen mint. He snorted his thanks. “There are at least three dozen pairs of eyes watching us today, and I can feel every one of them on my back. This whole place is in an uproar since I got my trainer’s license. I told Danny to spread the word earlier. There isn’t one person here who thinks I’m capable of training your son for the Derby and going on to a Triple Crown. Well, maybe that isn’t exactly true. Hunt and Smitty think I’m capable. And I suspect it causes some friction between Danny and his son. I don’t think Danny likes it that his son is his immediate boss. You’re listening to me, aren’t you?” Nealy grinned as the stallion turned his head slightly, his ear tuned to her every word. He twitched his lips to ask for another mint.

  For long moments she sat looking out over the paddocks thinking about how far she’d come and how far she still had to go. “It’s a beautiful May day. Three more days till Derby Day. The year after next, when Flyby is two, he’s going to start winning races
,” she said, tapping her finger against Dancer’s forehead. “Maybe next year I’ll go to the Derby. We’ll have to see how it goes. This whole damn industry is talking about us. That means you, too, Dancer. They said what we did was unorthodox, dangerous, and a whole bunch of other stuff. We have Dr. Edwin Franklin and Jack Carney to thank for that.” Nealy turned until she was eye level with the stallion. She caressed his head, his eyes, his ears. “Just remember this, I know what you’re going to do before you do it. Okay, now, I’m going to open the gate. Go see your son, Dancer.”

  Nealy’s eyes filled as the stallion trotted over to the mare and colt. He whickered playfully as his big head nudged Flyby. Little Lady looked on, but she stood at attention. Satisfied that her offspring was all right, she trotted over to the fence where Nealy was standing and waited patiently for her wintergreen mint. It was Emmie who had started the tradition of sharing her candies with the horses, and now they expected it. Dancer even knew which pocket she kept the candies in. If she was too slow in handing out the treats, he would nose her until she reached into her shirt pocket and handed it over. “And they said it couldn’t be done,” she whispered to the mare. “There’s no stronger bond between animals than an offspring. I know Dancer will never hurt you or the colt. I know this. Even if something spooks him, he won’t harm either of you. That baby of yours does like to frolic. Go on, Mama, join in,” Nealy whispered.

  Nealy leaned back against the fencing, her elbows hooked over the sides as she watched the horses frolic in the pasture.

  “I never thought this could be done,” Hunt said, hopping over the fence. “I’m seeing it, but I’m still having a hard time accepting it.”

  “Wait until he’s old enough to go through his paces. Just a few more months. Dancer and Little Lady will be right there with him. It’s going to work. Awhile back,” Nealy said, “I read that during the sixties, Forli, an Argentinian stud had accidentally been put in the same paddock with Sir Gaylord, Secretariat’s half brother. When the groom discovered the error, he panicked and thought he was going to have a stallion fight on his hands. Instead, he found Sir Gaylord standing quietly and looking bemused. It seems Forli had decided to meander into the shade and had rolled up at Sir Gaylord’s feet to go to sleep. So you see, there are exceptions to every rule. I got my trainer’s license, Hunt.”

  “That’s great, Nealy. Dad’s nose is a little out of joint, but he’ll get over it. He might not show it, but he does respect you. Are you taking in the Derby this weekend?”

  “No. It’s not my time yet. Are you going?”

  “Nope. My boss keeps me hopping. No time. Smitty said she’s going. She’s putting down some serious money on a horse called Windstar and a few others. Windstar has been trained by Cal Metzer out of SunStar Farms in Virginia.”

  “Is that right?” Nealy felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Yep. Carmela gave Smitty a hundred bucks to bet on him for her.”

  “Really. The odds are nine to one on Windstar. He doesn’t have a chance at the roses. The trainer is too rigid, and so is the owner. You better tell her to change her bet.”

  Hunt blinked at Nealy’s blunt, flat tone. “Okay. I’ve been out of the loop too long to know what the competition is. So, tell me, how is Smitty working out?”

  “Like a dream, Hunt. She’s everything she said she was. She’s fast, thorough, efficient, neat, and she runs a tight ship. She doesn’t imbibe till four o’clock. What she does off the clock is not my business. She runs these tallies daily. I know what every stable in the area is doing and when they’re doing it. She even did the paperwork for my license. Carmela hates her for some reason I can’t figure out. She’s witty, she’s charming, she’s incredibly personable. She told me a rumor today that the Owens farm has been sold. I dread having to tell Buddy. Supposedly the new owners are recruiting and paying better than we do. She said the scuttlebutt is Jack Carney is going to be lord on high, and Wylie will be right there with him. Some big-time New York stockbroker fancies himself a gentleman horse breeder. All kinds of money. They’re all going to Keeneland in July and snapping up every horse in sight.”

  “Smitty told you all this?”

  “Early this morning. By the close of the day it will be a fact. So far she’s never been wrong.”

  “Sometimes she reminds me of my mother. I think it’s the hair. I like her. She’s a bit like you, Nealy. She says what she thinks and gets right there in your face to say it. Just out of curiosity, if it comes down to it, where are you going to get these women who might be working here?”

  Nealy’s eyes narrowed. “Does it matter? Women are not prairie flowers. So get that idea right out of your head. Why do you men think we can’t do what you do? Women are born nurturers. Because your minds are closed, that’s why,” Nealy said, kicking out at the fence. “I damn well hate that attitude. I won’t tolerate it either. But to answer your questions, Smitty is on top of it if it should come to that.”

  “I guess it’s your intention, then, to bend the rules and if necessary, break them. Uh-oh, what have we here?”

  Nealy burst out laughing. “Charlie, what are you doing here? How’d you get out of the house?” She bent down to pick up Emmie’s new pup, a seven-pound Yorkshire terrier named Charlemagne. Charlie for short. He wiggled loose and ran across the paddock. He ran straight for Flyby and started to bark. The colt reared back while his mother pawed the ground. Dancer watched the dog’s activities but didn’t move. And then they were off, Charlie racing forward and backward as he tried to catch Flyby’s tail.

  “Not a good idea, Nealy,” Hunt grunted.

  “Who says? You don’t see Dancer or Little Lady getting bent out of shape, do you? Flyby now has a friend, not an equine friend, and that’s okay. It’s okay for him to play, Hunt. Look, it’s just like it is with people—it’s all about family, closeness, warmth, nurturing. Yes, it’s a business, but these animals are flesh and blood. They have feelings, they have affection, they try to please us. What’s the problem? I admit I don’t know everything, but I damn well know what feels right.”

  “But Nealy . . .”

  Nealy put her finger against her lips. “I don’t want to hear ‘but Nealy’ anything. This feels right.” She burst out laughing when she saw Charlie get in the pounce position and shoot toward Flyby. The colt darted away from him, jumping like a fawn through the grass, his little tail sticking up in the air like a flag.

  Nealy burst out laughing as she watched Charlie run in circles in front of Flyby. This was a whole new experience for Flyby, and she wanted it to be a good one. Charlie wagged his tail. Flyby twitched his.

  Stardancer and Little Lady stood back, watching.

  Suddenly, Charlie bolted and ran through Flyby’s legs toward the opposite end of the paddock. The little colt tossed his head and took out after him, kicking up his heels.

  “My God, they’re playing,” she whispered. “They’re actually playing, and Mama and Papa are okay with it.”

  The colt stopped and bent his head for a closer look at his excited playmate. Satisfied, he was off again, Charlie behind him.

  Nealy sprinted to the center of the paddock, where she scooped Charlie up into her arms. She nuzzled him before she held him out to the colt. Little Lady crowded next to her. She gave the Yorkie a gentle pinch on his tail to make him bark and at the same time breathe into the colt’s nostrils. “Good, now you have his scent. Time for you to go back to the house, Charlie. We need to have a little talk with Emmie about how you escaped.”

  She was still giggling when she escorted Dancer back to his own paddock. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Hunt push his baseball cap back on his head, and then scratch it. She knew he was dumbfounded. She continued to giggle and smile as Charlie yapped and yipped inside her shirt.

  It was seven o’clock when Nealy settled her barn family for the night. It was quiet, too quiet for this time of night. Her gaze swept through the barn and the adjoining ones. There was no sound of any kind to be h
eard. Even the horses were quiet. She wondered where Hunt was. Probably studying for the bar. Something was going on. She could sense it, feel it in her bones.

  She ran then, first to one barn and then the other. When she finally saw the angry mob, she pulled up short. They were gesturing, cursing, and stomping their feet. Hunt was out in front, trying to talk over the high-pitched angry voices, his father at his side. Should she interfere? Hunt was the farm manager and supervised the workers. As the owner, did she dare approach? What would Maud have done? She would have waded right in and stood next to Jess. Then again, with Jess running things, something like this never would have happened.

  She waited, knowing they could see her. She strained to hear what Hunt was saying, but she could hear only sound. If she couldn’t hear him, how could the others know what he was saying?

  It was Danny Clay who walked away to return with a double-barrel shotgun. He fired off a shot into the air and was rewarded with instant silence. “You have a spokesman, get him up front. Hunt speaks for Blue Diamond Farms. Now take it from there,” he shouted.

  Nealy kept her distance as she listened to the angry comments of her workers. This place ain’t the same since Maud died. ’Fore you know it, there will be curtains in the barns. Got nothin’ against women. Maud was a hell of a woman. My pa and his pa worked for her pa. Thought I would be here till I died. These newfangled methods don’t sit right. Can’t go into town without someone jawin’ about the craziness here. They’re layin’ down bets how soon we go into the ground. Them two young’uns spook us all. It ain’t right. That damn stallion thinks he’s a man.

  It went on and on until Nealy clapped her hands over her ears. Tears burned her eyes. She was back in Virginia listening to her father spew his venom.

  Like hell! She sprinted off to the crowd.

  “Pack your gear and get out! Now!” Nealy’s arm snaked out to grab the shotgun from Danny Clay’s hand. “You have twenty minutes. One minute longer, and you will be trespassing. There will be no severance pay, no vacation pay, and your health insurance will be canceled as of eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Get all your vehicles out of here and don’t ever come back. You’re traitors and backstabbers, and I don’t want people like that working for me. Move! The clock is ticking.”