Heiress

by Janet Dailey

  "With what? My father's money?" Bitterly Abbie recalled that Lane had told her that Dean had made separate provisions for Rachel.

  "Most of the money will come from a trust fund he established for me, yes," Rachel admitted.

  "Most of the money," which meant Rachel had received a sizable fortune, Abbie realized. River Bend had been appraised at well over two million dollars. And Rachel wanted to buy it. Even at his death, her father had made sure Rachel had money even though he'd left them with nothing. Did she need any more proof than that, that her father hadn't loved her?

  Abbie felt something snap inside, unleashing a torrent of hatred and anger. "I'd burn River Bend to the ground before I'd let you have it! Now get out of here! Go before I have you thrown off! Do you hear? Get out! Get out!" She couldn't think straight. She couldn't see. She wasn't even aware of the rising note of hysteria in her voice as she screamed at Rachel, watching her shrink against Lane for protection.

  Suddenly MacCrea was between them, his hands digging into her arms with punishing force. "You've made your point, Abbie."

  She trembled with the violence that raged inside her and choked her voice. "Just get her out of here."

  But it was Lane who walked Rachel to her car and helped her inside. A diamond-bright trail of tears streaked Rachel's cheeks, but Abbie knew her own pain went deeper than tears. Glancing at her mother, she saw the drained and broken look on her face.

  As the car pulled away and Lane started back to them, Babs turned weakly away. "I think I'll go to the house," she said.

  "Yes, Momma," Abbie said tightly, then sagged a little herself when MacCrea released her arms. As Lane rejoined them, she eyed him suspiciously, now fully aware of where his loyalties were.

  "I'm sorry you feel the way you do, Abbie," he said. "I know that Rachel was anxious to have River Bend stay in the family."

  "She was anxious over that, was she? How very noble of her to be concerned about the family home. What about Momma? How do you think she feels knowing that Daddy left Rachel enough money to buy River Bend, but Momma didn't get a thing? Hasn't she gone through enough hell knowing that Daddy didn't love her? Did she have to be reminded that he had provided for his mistress's child, but not for his own wife and daughter?" Abbie raged bitterly.

  "I know how you must feel—"

  "Do you? I doubt it. Because now I feel the way Momma does. I can't stand this place. I can hardly wait until it's sold and everything on it."

  Abbie walked away from them, aware that MacCrea hadn't said a word. But she didn't care what he thought—not right now. She hadn't realized it was possible to hate so much.

  Chapter 18

  "And sign here." Lane flipped to the last page of the partnership agreement and indicated the x-marked line that required Rachel's signature. Rachel signed her name in the blank and straightened from the massive walnut desk in his office. "That's the last one." He stacked the copies of the agreement together as she laid the gold pen on his desk. "Here's your copy," he said, handing the top one to her. "Happy?"

  "To have you for a partner, of course." Rachel smiled and turned to look out at the city, knowing that only one thing could make her happier: owning River Bend.

  "We'll have to have dinner together tonight and celebrate."

  His voice sounded closer, and she realized that Lane had left his desk and joined her. Rachel smiled at the thought that his plushly upholstered desk chair was too expensive to squeak. She looked around his office, admiring its clean, contemporary look. Like the building, the spacious executive office was done mostly in glass and chrome, its corner setting giving it a wide view of downtown Houston. She liked the symmetry and style of the room, everything in proportion, including the huge desk.

  "I'd like that." She turned to him, then paused. "You haven't said whether you've talked to Abbie since. . ." She let the sentence trail off unfinished, knowing she didn't need to remind him of the disastrous encounter with her the previous week.

  "I called yesterday to let her know we were sending her the proofs on the sales catalogue so she can check it for errors. The names of some of those horses would twist any man's tongue and send him scrambling for a dictionary. . . Arabic, of course." When she failed to smile at his attempt at humor, Lane sighed. "You haven't changed your mind, have you? Even though you know how they're going to feel?"

  "No. I still want us to buy it." When she closed her eyes, she could still see Abbie's face, the contempt and rage that had been on it. If anything, it only made her more determined to have it. "I suppose you think that's wrong of me."

  "No. No, I don't." Lane seemed to consider his next words before he spoke. "As a matter of fact, after you left that day, Abbie informed me that she and her mother hated the farm. She said she couldn't wait for it to be sold."

  "She really said that? How could she?" Rachel was at once astounded and angry by the statement she regarded as blatant disloyalty. "River Bend is Dean's legacy. His family has owned it for a hundred and fifty years. How could she want to see it sold to some stranger?"

  "I don't know. But that's what she said."

  "Well, I'm not going to let it happen. I can't." She glanced down at the newly signed document in her hand. "I know you think I'm being silly and sentimental. Maybe we should just tear up these partnership papers, because I know you don't approve of buying River Bend—"

  "You're wrong." He folded his hand around her fingers, tightening her grasp on the document. "I see no reason why we shouldn't buy it, especially when you want it so much."

  "Do you mean that?" She searched his face anxiously.

  "How could I look into those blue eyes and say no?" he chided.

  "Lane." She breathed his name in an exultant laugh, then kissed him, pressing her lips ardently against his, loving him more at that moment than she ever had. Through the thin silk fabric of her dress, she felt his hands traveling along her back and arching her against the shape of his body. She wanted to hold on to this moment, with its heated closeness and consuming happiness. The world was hers now. If there was one dark spot in it, it was knowing that Abbie had been the one who had succeeded in convincing Lane to buy River Bend when she had failed.

  Gently Lane tugged her arms from around his neck as he reluctantly withdrew his mouth from her moist, clinging lips. "I have yet to seduce a beautiful woman on my office couch," he said thickly, "but if we keep this up, you'll be the first."

  Her own pulse racing, Rachel noticed the answering desire that darkened his eyes and weighted their lids. She felt like a temptress. One curl of her finger and she could get him to do anything she wanted. She reveled in the feeling even as he firmly set her away from him.

  "I'm quite sure that I'm the happiest woman in the whole world right now, Lane. I not only have you, but soon, River Bend will be ours, too. Sometimes I wonder if this isn't all a dream. . . that maybe none of this is happening. . . that you didn't kiss me a minute ago."

  "I found it very real. Everything else is, too, I promise you." He gazed at her for a long moment, then walked over to his desk, as if needing to put more distance between them. "I'll arrange for an agent to bid for us at the auction."

  "Speaking of auctions, when I glanced through the list of broodmares to be sold, I saw several that I think we'd be interested in acquiring. Of course, I'm basing that strictly on their bloodlines. I've never actually seen them. Naturally, I would want to before we bought them."

  "You're saying you want to attend the horse auction," Lane guessed.

  "Yes. But considering the way Abbie behaved the last time I was there—ordering me off the premises—you know she isn't going to want me there."

  "She can't bar you from it. It's a public auction, open to anyone, and that includes you."

  "Maybe you should remind her of that the next time you talk to her."

  "I will. Now, I don't mean to chase you off, but I have another meeting in"—he paused and glanced at the gold Piaget watch on his wrist—"five minutes. I'll pick you up a
t seven for dinner."

  "I'll be waiting." She walked over and gave him another kiss, sensing that he wished it was longer and more passionate than the chaste kiss she bestowed.

  On her way out of his office, Rachel collected her alligator purse from a chair. Over and over she kept reminding herself that soon she would be the new mistress of River Bend and Abbie would be out. She would have Dean's home. She would carry on the family traditions. And she would run the River Bend Arabian Stud. She felt an exhilarating sense of power. For the first time in her life, she felt she could do anything be anything. Nothing could stop her: not the shame of her past, not Abbie—nothing.

  As she swept through the outer office, she barely glanced at Lane's secretary and the man standing at his desk. In the lobby, she pushed the "down" button for the elevator and waited for it to come. She was still waiting when she was joined by someone else. She glanced absently at the man and instantly recognized him as the one who had intervened the other day with Abbie. According to Lane, Abbie had been seeing him regularly.

  "You're MacCrea Wilder, aren't you?" she said, recalling the name Lane had told her.

  "That's right." He nodded briefly, something hooded in his glance—or maybe she got that impression from the hat brim that shaded his dark eyes.

  Rachel found it impossible not to compare him physically to Lane. Wilder was taller, broader in the shoulders, and more narrow in the hips than Lane. His thick hair was dark and wavy; Lane's was silver and straight. Lane was smooth-shaven and Wilder wore a full mustache, but he lacked that distinguished air that Rachel found so appealing in Lane. It was obvious to her that Abbie preferred the rugged, virile type.

  "Lane mentioned that you've been seeing Abbie."

  "I have," he confirmed, looking straight into her eyes.

  She had expected him to scan her face and take note of the features she shared in common with Abbie. But he didn't. It was as if he saw no resemblance at all. For some reason she was thrown by that and fought to rid herself of that resurfacing sense of inferiority.

  "Our elevator's here."

  With a small start, Rachel noticed he was holding the doors open for her. She quickly stepped into the empty elevator, followed closely by MacCrea. She watched him punch the ground-floor button. Belatedly, she recognized the combination of tan blazer and blue jeans as being the same as that worn by the man in Lane's outer office.

  "Were you the one talking to Lane's secretary when I came out of his" office?" she asked as the doors slid shut.

  "Yes."

  "He said he had a meeting. Was that with you?" If so, it had certainly been a short one.

  "No. I was making an appointment to talk to him later in the week."

  "About Abbie?" she guessed.

  "No. It's a business matter."

  "I remember: Lane said you wanted to talk to him about some invention of yours. It had to do with drilling oil wells, I think he said."

  "That's right."

  "I know he sounded very interested in it," Rachel recalled thoughtfully, remembering that Lane had indicated he might become personally involved in the development financing and marketing of it. "Would you object if I sat in on your meeting with Lane, Mr. Wilder? This might be something I'd like to get into—purely as an investor."

  "I don't mind, as long as Lane doesn't."

  "He won't mind," she stated confidently, fully aware that Abbie would. Rachel smiled, discovering that she liked the idea.

  Chapter 19

  The cool of the central air-conditioning greeted Abbie as she entered the kitchen through the back door. A roast baking in the oven was redolent of the tang of cooked onions. She picked her way through the boxes stacked by the door, all of them bearing the meticulous scroll of her mother's handwriting, identifying the cartons as containing sale items. Abbie searched the counter by the wall telephone, but the day's mail wasn't in its usual place.

  Impatiently, she pushed open the connecting door to the formal dining room and checked the table and bureau top for the mail, then continued into the living room, her boots clumping loudly, then softly, then loudly again as she went from hardwood floor to area rug to hardwood floor again.

  "Abbie, is that you?" her mother called from the upstairs landing.

  "Yes, Momma." She crossed to the foot of the staircase. "Where did you put today's mail? Ben said there was a packet from Lane's office in it."

  "It's on the table in the foyer." Babs came down the steps, dressed in a pair of slacks that looked like relics of the forties, with a scarf tied around her head like some Aunt Jemima character.

  Abbie didn't know where her mother was finding the clothes she'd been wearing lately, but she suspected they were coming from the old trunks her mother had dragged out of the attic. She walked over to the side table and started leafing through the mail.

  "I'm so glad you're here, Abbie. Which bedroom do you want for yourself at the other house? You never did say when we went over to the Hix farm to look at it," she reminded her as Abbie ripped open the manila envelope bearing the return address of Lane Canfield's office and pulled out the printed sales catalogue. "I'm trying to decide which dresser sets to keep and which to sell. Yours will fit in one room but not in the other. Same for mine, but the guest bedroom set will work in either."

  On the third page of the catalogue, Abbie found River Breeze's name listed in bold type. Even though she had suspected that the filly would be included despite her claim of ownership, something died inside her when she actually saw it in print. Two days ago, Lane had called to inform her that the probate court seemed to be taking the position that the filly was too valuable to be regarded as a family pet. Yet Abbie had hoped.

  "Abbie, did you hear me? Which bedroom do you want?"

  "I don't care." She let the pages of the catalogue flip shut, then dropped it on the table with the rest of the mail. "You choose the one you want and I'll take the other."

  "Is something wrong, Abbie?" Frown lines creased her forehead as Babs glanced from her to the catalogue and torn envelope on the table.

  "Wrong?" Abbie shook her head vaguely. "I'm not sure I know what's right or wrong anymore, Momma." She reached for the front doorknob. “I'll see you later."

  Abbie walked out of the house onto the wide porch feeling beaten. Everything was going from bad to worse, it seemed, and she wondered when it was going to stop. When was something good going to happen to her?

  As she reached the top of the steps, she heard the hinges creak on the picket gate and looked up. MacCrea was striding toward her, tall and vigorous, a smile splitting his strong face. Here was something good, she realized and suddenly became aware of the bright shining sun and the blue of the jay on the lawn.

  She practically ran down the steps, but by the time she reached the last one, he was there. And that step eliminated his height advantage and put her on just the right level to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him long and strong, putting everything she had into it. After a startled instant, he responded in kind, returning the driving pressure of her lips and wrapping his arms tightly around her and molding her to his body.

  When she finally dragged her lips from his mouth, she was trembling. "I've missed you, Mac," she murmured. "I haven't seen you for two days. Where have you been?"

  "If this is the kind of welcome I get, I'm going to leave more often." His low-pitched voice was a little husky.

  "You hadn't better." She needed him. Abbie hadn't realized how much until now.

  "I've got some good news. As of this morning, a major drilling-fluid company in Houston has agreed to field-test my computerized system for checking the downhole performance of mud—and market it, if it proves successful. The financing and everything has all been arranged."

  "Are you serious?" For a split second she hardly dared to believe him, but the glint of satisfaction in his eyes told her it was true. "That's wonderful! Mac, it's fantastic!"

  "You're damned right it is. And you and I are going out on the town and c
elebrate, starting now," he declared.

  "This minute?" But she realized that was exactly what he meant. "MacCrea, I can't. I've got a thousand and one things I have to do this afternoon. Later, after the horses are fed tonight—"

  "We're going now." His half-smile was lazy and confident.

  "You're crazy. I can't leave all this work for Ben." Abbie tried to push away from him, but his arms were locked together behind her back.

  "He'll manage. And if some of the horses go hungry tonight, it's not going to hurt them. You're coming with me and that's final."

  "I am not—and that's final!" She didn't like his high-handed attitude. It smacked of dictatorship, and no one told her what to do, not even MacCrea.

  His smile faded. "If that's the way you feel"—he paused, and she felt his arms loosen their hold on her, his hands retreating to her waist as he took a step backward—"I guess I'll just have to take matters into my own hands."

  Suddenly she was being lifted. Abbie tried to struggle, but it all happened too fast. One minute her feet were on the steps, and the next she was slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  "MacCrea Wilder, you put me down this minute," she ordered through gritted teeth and pushed at his back, trying to lever herself off his shoulder, but he had a viselike grip around her thighs. Abbie held herself stiffly, refusing to kick and beat at him like some hysterical female.

  "Sorry."

  "You're not the least bit sorry," she spat, bobbing against his shoulder as he climbed the porch steps. "And just where do you think you're taking me?"

  "To get you cleaned up. You smell like a horse."

  "And you smell like a. . . a. . ." She couldn't think of anything vile enough as he paused to pull the front door open wide, then carried her inside. "Dammit, MacCrea, will you please put me down now?" She wanted to hit him, but she knew how ineffectual any resistance would be.

  "If I do, will you go upstairs and get ready?"