by Janet Dailey
A sign hung from a post on the left-hand side. The paint had faded, but enough of the letters were still distinguishable to make out the name Worth Farms, a shortened appellation of Wentworth. Board fences flanked the lane. Once they had been painted white, but the sun had blistered the paint away, leaving the wood grayed and weathered. Half a dozen mares with foals could be seen grazing in the green carpet of grass in the pasture.
"Look, Tadd." Valerie pointed to the opposite side of the car from where he was sitting. "There are horses here, too."
But not for long, she thought to herself. With her grandfather gone, they would be sold off, and the farm, too. It was difficult to accept that the place she had always regarded as home would soon belong to someone else. It was a sorrow, a resigned regret. Valerie had no hard feelings against her grandfather for disinheriting her; she had given him ample cause as a teenager.
"Can we stop and see the horses, mom?" Tadd bounced anxiously in the back seat, not satisfied with the slowed pace of the car that gave him a long time to watch the sleek, glistening animals.
"Later," Valerie qualified her refusal.
"Promise?" he demanded.
"I promise," she agreed, and let her gaze slide to Clara, whose shrewd eyes were inspecting the property. "The house and barns are just ahead." The roofs and part of the structures were in view.
"Are you sure there'll be somebody there?" Clara questioned with dry skepticism.
"Mickey Flanners will be there, I know he'll let us stay long enough to wash and clean up. We can find out from him the details about the funeral arrangements and all," she explained, and smiled briefly. "You'll like Mickey," she told her friend. "He's an ex-jockey. He's worked for granddad for years, taking care of the horses and doing odd jobs around the place. He's probably looking after things now until all the legal matters are settled and the farm…is sold." Again she felt the twinge of regret that this was no longer her home, not when her grandfather was alive nor now. She covered the pause with a quick, "Mickey is a lovable character."
"Which means he's short and fat, I suppose." The cutting edge of Clara's statement was blunted by her droll brand of humor.
"Short and pudgy," Valerie corrected with a twinkling look.
As they entered the yard of the horse farm, the barns and stables were the first to catch her eye. Although they were in need of a coat of paint, they were in good repair. Valerie hadn't expected differently. Her grandfather had never allowed anything to become run-down. The two-story house was in the same shape, needing paint but well kept. The lawn was overgrown with weeds in dire need of mowing.
Her sweeping inspection of the premises ended as her gaze was caught by a luxury-model car parked in front of the house. A film of dust coated the sides, picked up from dirt roads. A tingling sensation danced over her nerve ends. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed convulsively.
"Did you really used to live here, mom?" Tadd's eager voice seemed to come from a great distance.
"Yes." Her answer was absent.
"I wish I did," was his wistful response.
Automatically Valerie parked beside the other car. It could belong to any number of people, she told herself, a lawyer, a banker, someone from the funeral home, just anyone. But somehow she knew better.
The car's engine had barely stopped turning before Tadd was opening the back door and scrambling out. Valerie followed his lead, but in a somewhat dazed fashion. A small hand grabbed hold of hers and tugged to pull her away from the house.
"Let's go see the horses, mom," Tadd demanded. "You promised we would."
"Later." But she was hardly conscious of answering him. An invisible magnet was pulling her toward the house, its compelling force stronger than the pleadings of her son.
"I want to go now!" His angry declaration fell on deaf ears.
The screen door onto the front porch opened and a man stepped onto the painted board floor. The top buttons of his white shirt were unfastened, exposing the bronze skin of his hair-roughened chest. Long sleeves had been rolled back, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms. The white of his shirt tapered to male hips, dark trousers stretching the length of his supple, muscled legs.
But it was the unblinking stare of green eyes that held Valerie in their thrall. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of them. Harsh grooves were etched on either side of his mouth, carved into sun-browned skin stretched leanly from cheekbone to jawline. His jet black hair was in casual disorder that was somehow sensuous.
Her heart had stopped beating at the sight of Judd, only to start up again at racing speed to send the blood pounding hotly through her veins. The seven years melted away until they were no longer ago than yesterday. Untold pleasures were no farther away than the short distance that separated them. That chiseled mouth had only to take possession of hers to transport her to the world of secret delights.
The compulsion was strong to take the last few steps to reach that hard male body. Valerie would have succumbed to it if the small hand holding hers hadn't tugged her arm to demand her attention. Reluctantly she dragged her gaze from Judd and glanced down to the small boy at her side. Only a few seconds had passed instead of years.
"Who's that man?" Tadd frowned, eyeing Judd with a look that was both puzzled and wary.
Valerie couldn't help wondering what would happen if she told him Judd was his father. But of course she couldn't, and didn't. Tadd's question had succeeded in bringing her to her senses. Valerie realized the painful truth that the aching rawness of her desire for Judd hadn't diminished over the years of separation, but she was equally determined not to become enslaved by that love as she had been seven years ago.
Her gaze swung back to Judd, her amber-flecked eyes masked. "It's a neighbor, Judd Prescott." Her voice sounded remarkably calm.
A muttered sigh came from Clara, issued low for Valerie's ears alone. "I didn't think it was your lovable Mickey." Her comment implied that she had guessed Judd's identity the minute he stepped out of the house.
Valerie didn't have time to acknowledge her friend's remark, for Judd was walking down the porch steps to greet her. He extended a hand toward her.
"Welcome home, Valerie." His low-pitched voice carried little other expression than courtesy. "I'm sorry your return is under these circumstances."
His words of sympathy were just that—words. They carried no sincerity. A bitter surge of resentment made her want to hurl them back in his face. One look at his hard features cast in bronze told her he was incapable of feelings, except the baser kind.
Valerie swallowed the impulse and murmured a stiff, "I'm sorry, too."
Unconsciously she placed her hand in his. When she felt the strong grip of his fingers closing over her own, she was struck by the irony of the situation. She was politely and impersonally shaking hands with a man who knew her more intimately than anyone ever had, a man who was the father of her child. There wasn't any part of her that the hand she held hadn't explored many times and with devastating thoroughness. She felt the beginnings of a trembling desire and withdrew her hand from his before she betrayed it.
"I'm Tadd." Her son demanded his share of the attention.
Her hand drifted to his small shoulder. "This is my son," she told Judd, and watched his reaction.
He didn't seem surprised by her announcement, nor was there any suspicion in his expression that he was looking into the face of his child. Valerie supposed that she saw the faint resemblance between the two because she knew and was looking for it.
"Hello, Tadd." Judd bent slightly at the waist to shake hands with the boy. It was a gesture minus the warmth of affection or friendliness, prompted only by courtesy.
At first Tadd seemed slightly overwhelmed by the action. Then a smile of importance widened his mouth. "Hello," he replied.
Valerie realized it was the first time an adult had ever shaken hands with him; usually they rumpled his hair and tweaked his chin. No wonder he was looking so proud and important! She was almost angr
y with Judd for being the one to treat Tadd as something other than a pet, because she knew he meant nothing by it. She stifled the rush of antagonism and turned to introduce him to Clara.
"Clara, this is Judd Prescott. He owns the land that adjoins my grandfather's." The explanation was unnecessary, but Valerie made it to show Judd that she hadn't found him important enough to discuss with her friend prior to their arrival. "This is my friend Mrs. Clara Simons."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Simons." Judd issued the polite phrase and shook Clara's hand.
"Likewise, I'm sure." Clara returned the polite phrasing, while the two of them eyed each other like a pair of opponents taking the measure of one another's strengths and weaknesses. Tension seemed to crackle in the air.
"I didn't expect to see you here when we arrived, Judd." Valerie's brittle comment was a challenge to explain his presence on the farm. "I thought we'd find Mickey instead."
"Did you?" The gleam in his eyes seemed to taunt her statement, but Judd went on smoothly without waiting for a reply. "Mick is here. I just stopped by to check on things and see if there was any way I could be of assistance."
"A neighborly call, hmm?" Clara's sharp voice questioned his motive with mockery.
But he remained unscathed by the jibe, his cat green gaze swinging to the stoutly built woman unperturbed. "Something like that," he agreed. Turning to one side, he called toward the house, "Mick? Valerie has arrived."
"You don't say!" came the muffled exclamation in a lilting tenor voice that Valerie remembered well, and seconds later a short squat figure came bustling out of the house. Mickey looked older and wasn't as agile as she remembered. The wispy crop of hair on his head still reminded her of straw, but it was thinner. "As I live and breathe, it's Valerie!"
"Hello, Mickey." She smiled, unaware of the warmth and affection her expression held or the way Judd's eyes narrowed into green slits at the unconsciously alluring transformation.
With slightly bowed legs, Mickey Flanners was built so close to the ground that he appeared to tumble down the steps to greet her. A head shorter than she was, he clasped one of her hands in the powerful grip of both of his. She realized that his hands still had the strength to control the most fractious of horses.
"I got word yesterday afternoon that you was coming for the funeral, but I didn't know how soon you'd get here." His knowledge was of horses, not subjects like grammar, but his brand of reckless Irish charm made it easy to overlook.
"We drove practically straight through," Valerie explained. "We stopped here before going into town to rest and find out the details about the funeral arrangements. I thought you would know about them."
"Of course I do. You—" Mickey began, only to be interrupted by Tadd.
"You aren't even as tall as my mom. When are you going to grow up?" he wanted to know.
"Mind your tongue, Tadd!" It was Clara who snapped out the reprovel, but Valerie just smiled and Mickey laughed, never having been sensitive about his size, and Judd's green eyes simply observed.
"To tell you the truth, me lad—" Mick adopted a poor imitation of an Irish brogue and winked at Valerie "—I don't intend to ever grow up," he confided to Tadd in a loud whisper. "Wouldn't you like to stay little like me all your life?"
Without hesitation, Tadd made a negative shake of his head. "No, I want to grow tall like him." He pointed at Judd.
Valerie caught her breath at the amused twitch of Judd's mouth. But he didn't know it was his son who wanted to grow up like him. At the rate Tadd was growing out of his clothes, she guessed he probably would top the six-foot mark like Judd.
"Well, if that's the way you feel about it, there's nothing I can do." Mickey looked properly crestfallen, but laughter danced in the eyes as he turned toward Valerie. "Where's your luggage? I'll carry it in the house for you."
"We were planning to stay at a motel in town." Valerie's instinctive response was a protest.
"A motel?" Mickey stepped back. "Eli would have my hide if I let you and the boy stay at a motel! I mean—if he was alive," he corrected with a sobering look. "You're the only family he had. There's no sense in sleeping in a strange place when your old bedroom is empty."
"Our luggage is in the trunk of the car and the keys are in the ignition." Clara offered this information while Valerie was still absorbing Mickey's reply.
He had made it sound as if her grandfather would have wanted her back. And he had known about Tadd, and obviously hadn't kept it a secret or Mickey would not have taken his presence for granted. For that reason alone Valerie wasn't going to argue about staying, discounting the fact that she could ill afford the cost of the motel room.
Mickey's ebullient spirits could never be battened down for long. They surfaced again as he obtained the key from the ignition and walked to the rear of the car to unlock the trunk. He began unloading the suitcases, chattering continuously.
"When you left here, Valerie, old Eli scented to lose heart. He didn't quit or anything like that—he'd never give up his horses—but he just didn't seem to have the enthusiasm anymore." Mickey paused to glance around the place. "For the last three years he'd been talking about painting everything, but he never got around to it. The truth is I don't think he had the money to hire it done and neither one of us was spry enough to paint it ourselves. And you know your grandfather: if he couldn't pay cash for what he wanted, he did without." He set the last suitcase on the ground. "Is this all of them?"
"Yes," Valerie nodded.
He glanced down at them. "Guess I'll have to make two trips."
"I'll help you carry them inside, Mick," Judd volunteered, as the ex-jockey had expected him to do. Judd was aware of Mickey's tactics, but appeared tolerant.
"Thanks, Judd." Mickey picked out the heaviest suitcases and handed them to him.
That was when Valerie noticed that Tadd had tagged along after Judd. He tipped his dark head way back to look up at him, a determinedly adult look on his childish face.
"I can carry one," he insisted.
"Do you think so?" Judd's glance was indulgent and tolerant, but indifferent. He nodded toward Valerie's makeup case. "That one looks about your size. Can you handle it?"
"Sure." Tadd picked it up with both hands. It bounced against his knees as he walked behind Judd toward the house.
"I'll tell you one thing, Valerie," Mickey was saying as he led the way up the porch steps and into the house. "Your granddad sure perked up when he found out he had a great-grandchild. Proud as a peacock, he was, passing out cigars to anybody that came within hailing distance."
A lump entered Valerie's throat. Her grandfather had been proud; he hadn't been ashamed when he learned of Tadd's birth. Why hadn't he let her know? She would have brought Tadd for him to see. Hadn't he realized that she had expected her reception to be a door slamming in her face?
"Ain't got no coffee made," Mick added. "But I guess you could make a pot while we take the luggage to your rooms. Ain't nothing been changed since you left, so the fixings are where they always were. You know what old Eli said: 'a place for everything and everything in its place,'" he quoted the old adage that her grandfather had recited many times.
"A cup of coffee is just what I need," Clara stated briskly. "You go and fix some, Valerie, while I see to our luggage and hang our clothes up before they're permanently wrinkled."
Valerie was left downstairs to make her way to the kitchen while the rest of them climbed the steps to the second-floor bedrooms. She hadn't realized how tense she had been in Judd's presence until she was away from him. Her severely controlled nerves seemed to almost shudder in relief when she stood alone in the simple farm kitchen. She had wanted that fiery attraction between them to be dead, but it wasn't—not for her.
She heard footsteps approaching the kitchen, more than one set, and began filling the coffeepot with water. She turned off the taps as Judd entered the kitchen, followed closely by Tadd and Mickey.
"I saw the bedroom where you slept as a littl
e kid, mom," Tadd announced, bouncing over to the counter and standing on tiptoe to see what she was doing. "Mickey showed it to me. He said it was the same bed you used to sleep in. Can I sleep in it, mom?"
"Yes, you may sleep in my bed if you want to," she agreed, and turned to open the cupboard on her left.
Her gaze encountered Judd's. She had the disturbing sensation that she had just given permission to him instead of her son. The canister of coffee was where it had always been kept. Her shaking hands lifted it down to the counter top as she turned to avoid the glitter of his eyes.
"When can we go see the horses?" Tadd reverted to his previous theme.
"Later on, I told you that before," Valerie replied with a hint of impatience creeping through.
"But it is later," he reasoned. "And you promised."
"Tadd, I'm making coffee." She shot him a warning look not to pursue the issue and his lower lip jutted out in a pout.
"So it's horses you're wanting to see, is it, lad?" Mickey's lilting voice brought the light of hope back into Tadd's hazel green eyes.
"Yes, would you take me?" he asked unashamedly.
"First I have to find out how bad you want to see them," Mick cautioned, and walked over to open a cupboard drawer. "You can either have a piece of candy—" he held up a chocolate bar "—or you can come with me to see the horses. Which will it be?"
Except to glance at the candy, Tadd didn't hesitate. "The horses."
Mickey tossed him the chocolate bar. "Spoken like a true horseman! Your great-granddaddy would have been proud to hear you say that."
Tadd stared at the candy. "Aren't you going to take me to see the horses?"
"Of course, lad." Mickey reassured him with a wink. "But you'll be needin' some energy for the walk, won't you?"
"You mean I can have both?" Tadd wanted to be sure before he tore off the paper wrapping around the bar.
"Isn't that what I just said?" Mick teased, and moved toward the back door. "Come along, lad. And don't you be worrying about him, Valerie. I'll watch over him the same as I watched over you."
Valerie had enjoyed watching Mickey work his Irish charm on her son. It wasn't until the door shut that she realized she had been left alone in the kitchen with Judd. What was keeping Clara, she wondered desperately, but was determined not to lose her composure.
