Heiress

by Janet Dailey

  Ben came in. "Are you not feeling well?"

  "I'm fine," she insisted impatiently, tired of all the questions about her health. She had answered too many of Dobie's already. From the living room came the sound of his laughter, rich with jubilance, but it just irritated Abbie more. "Listen to him. I never dreamed he would be so proud and happy."

  "It is a wonderful thing to be having a baby."

  "Yes, but the way he's acting you'd think he was the father."

  "Is that not what you wanted him to think?"

  For a fraction of a second she paused, then hurriedly pried the lid off the coffee canister. "Yes." But she wondered how MacCrea would react if he knew about the baby—whether he'd be bursting at the seams the way Dobie was. But she'd never know, because he wouldn't find out about it. That's the way she wanted it—for herself and the baby.

  Later that night, Abbie lay in the double bed with her back to Dobie. She knew he wasn't asleep. He was like a little boy on Christmas Eve, too excited about Santa's impending arrival to close his eyes. She felt the mattress shift under his weight as he turned toward her. His hand moved over the top of the covers to touch her arm.

  "Please, Dobie, I'm tired." She couldn't bear the thought of him making demands on her tonight.

  "I know, honey. I was just thinking that from now on you need to take it a little easier."

  "Yes." She didn't feel like talking, certainly not about the baby anymore.

  "I've already told your mother that she'll have to find somebody else to help her with the parties 'cause you won't be able to."

  Stunned by his announcement Abbie rolled over to face him in the darkness. "You did what?"

  Ever since they'd gotten married, he'd been hinting that it wasn't necessary for her to work anymore. She was his wife now, and she should be content to stay at home and cook and keep house for him. He'd give her whatever spending money she needed. Considering the way he squeezed a dollar, Abbie knew that wouldn't be much. For the most part, she had simply ignored him, believing that in time, he'd get used to the idea of his wife working.

  "I told her you couldn't work like that anymore and stay up 'til all hours of the night at those parties. You need your rest now. And tomorrow you'd better call the owners of those horses you've been keeping here and tell them to come get them."

  "I will do no such thing! The Scottsdale Show is less than three weeks away, and I've promised two of the owners that I'll show their horses there. It's one of the biggest Arabian horse shows in the whole country. And I've worked long and hard to get these horses ready for it. The stalls have already been reserved, the entry fees have been paid, and a hauler has already been lined up to take them there. Even if I could find somebody else qualified to show them at this date, I wouldn't."

  "You aren't really taking off to Arizona for two weeks and leaving me here alone? You're my wife now." Even in the shadowed darkness of the bedroom his disbelieving frown was visible.

  "Yes, I am going. You knew all along I planned to," she reminded him. "You're welcome to come." But she doubted that he'd be willing to leave the farm for that length of time—or spend the money to go.

  "But with a baby on the way, you shouldn't be bouncing around on those horses."

  "In the first place, Dobie Hix, I don't bounce. And in the second, I'm not going to quit working with the horses—or my mother. So you might as well get that out of your head right now.”

  "I'm only thinking of you. You need to stay home and take care of yourself," he argued.

  "No, I don't," she stated emphatically. "I am a normal, healthy woman who is pregnant. It isn't an illness, Dobie. As a matter of fact, the doctor said that as long as I exercise and eat sensibly, everything should be fine. Until he tells me differently, I'm going to keep working. Besides, I'd go stark, raving crazy if I had to sit around this farmhouse day in and day out." That was the truth, but she hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly. "And there's Ben to consider. Those horses are his source of income."

  "He could always work for me on the farm."

  Abbie knew Ben would hate that. "If he couldn't work with horses, I think he'd die. They're his life, just like this farm is to you."

  Dobie rolled onto his back and stared at the textured ceiling, his frustration almost palpable. "I swear I just don't understand you sometimes, Abbie," he muttered. "What are people going to think? You're my wife, and here you are working—and gallivanting all over the country."

  "I don't care what they think. I'm going to keep working, and that's final. I don't want to discuss it anymore." She turned on her side and punched the pillow into shape, then lay her head on it and determinedly closed her eyes. When he started to say something, she cut him off with a sharp "Good night, Dobie."

  But the topic became a running argument between them. At one point Dobie reminded her that he owned the farm, and if he didn't want horses on it, that's the way it was going to be. Abbie had quickly pointed out that he had signed a legal agreement, leasing her the barn area and pasture. And if he chose not to renew the lease when it expired in seven more months, then she'd find somewhere else to keep the horses.

  When he brought up the parties, she asked him exactly how he expected her to pay the stud fee to have River Breeze bred in the spring. Was he going to give her the ten or twenty thousand dollars it was going to cost—plus boarding and transportation expenses? In his opinion, it was a stupid waste of money.

  The situation between them didn't improve when he saw all the cocktail and evening dresses she was packing to take to Scottsdale. She was supposed to be going to a horse show. Abbie tried to explain to him about the gala parties that were an integral part of the Scottsdale Show scene. But he didn't think his wife should be going to parties—not even with Ben as her escort. By the time she set out to drive to Arizona with Ben, she and Dobie were just barely on speaking terms.

  In Arabian horse circles, the Scottsdale Show at Paradise Park was considered one of the most prestigious, and some claimed expensive, shows in the country and the premier sales arena in the nation. The giant parking lot next to the show grounds was jammed with horse trailers and vans bearing license plates from all four points of the compass, from as far away as Canada. The trailers ranged in size from a simple single-horse trailer to luxury models capable of hauling six horses with room left over for living quarters.

  Arriving a day before the show actually started, Abbie and Ben checked into an inexpensive motel a couple of miles from the park, her small single room a vast change from the plush condo she had usually stayed in when she had attended the show with her father. But many things had changed in her life.

  The first two days of the show were hectic ones, getting the horses settled in, clipped, and groomed, with more exhibitors arriving all the time, florists delivering huge potted plants to various stables to aid in the transformation of common stalls into showcases, and carpenters and electricians swarming all over the place like so many flies in a barn. Outside the main show ring, the bazaar area was growing as more booths opened for business, selling everything from syndicate shares to fried ice cream, horse tack to mink coats, and oil paintings to tee shirts.

  But those first days were fun days, too, for Abbie. At every turn, she ran into someone she knew. All of them had heard about her father's death, and the subsequent sale of River Bend and its Arabian stock, but it didn't seem to matter to them. They were glad to see her, glad to see she was still competing, even if it wasn't on horses her family owned.

  After competing in a late afternoon class, her first in the show, Abbie telephoned the horse's owners and informed them that their mare had made it through the first elimination round, then grabbed her dress bag and overnight case and hurried over to the ladies' shower trailers to get cleaned up. Desert Farm Arabians was holding an aisle party that evening to present their stallion, Radzyn. Abbie was anxious to attend and see the stallion that she regarded as a top choice for her young mare.

  When she saw the striking blo
od bay stallion, he was all she had hoped he would be and more. Despite the crowd that had gathered around him, partially blocking her view, she was impressed by his regal arrogance as he stood with his head held high and his ebony tail flagged.

  "What do you think of him, Ben?" She glanced at the elderly man beside her, still wearing his same serviceable tweed jacket. His one concession to the party had been the tie he added.

  He studied the horse critically. "He does not have the classic jibbah I would like to see," he said, using the term that referred to the prominent forehead, a distinctive feature on an Arabian horse.

  "Breeze does. And Radzyn has the level croup and well-sloped shoulders. Breeze has the classic features, the long hip and short back. Where Radzyn is weak, she's strong—and vice versa. They should make a good nick, I think."

  Slow to make up his mind, Ben finally nodded. "I think so, too."

  "Good. That much is decided anyway." She hooked an arm with his, her dress sleeve of scarlet silk jacquard at odds with his worn tweed sleeve with its suede elbow patch. The other guests were wearing everything from tee shirts and jeans to sables and Gucci. "Now all we have to figure out is how we're going to pay the stud fee. They want fifteen thousand for a live foal guarantee or ten thousand without it."

  She steered him toward the buffet table, a familiar hollow feeling in her stomach. It didn't seem to matter how much she ate anymore; she just couldn't seem to satisfy the ravenous appetite she'd acquired with her pregnancy.

  "We will find a way. Do not worry," Ben assured her. "You will see when April comes."

  "I hope so," she sighed and began piling the daintily cut sandwiches on her plate, adding a dollop of caviar on the side.

  On the opposite side of the buffet table, a woman nudged her companion. "Look. Isn't that the new owner of River Bend?" she said, using a toothpick-speared meatball to point to her.

  Abbie turned around to look in the direction the woman had indicated. There stood Rachel, a snow-white ermine stole draped low on her arms, revealing a black lace dress studded with sequins over a strapless underdress of rose satin.

  "What's she doing here?" Abbie felt first cold, then hot. "She doesn't have any horses competing here, does she?"

  "No. But I have heard that she has come to buy."

  "The sales. Of course, she'd be here for them," she said.

  And Abbie was also painfully aware that her own name wouldn't be on any of the invitation lists. Even if she was able to wangle a ticket from someone to attend one of the major sales—extravaganzas that rivaled any Broadway production—it would be in the bleachers. She certainly wouldn't be able to sit in the "gold card" section, the way she used to. Gaining admission to that favored area required a financial statement worthy of a Rockefeller—or Lane Canfield. But Rachel would be there, diamonds, ermine, and all.

  For the rest of the show, Abbie was haunted by Rachel. No matter where Abbie went, she was there: in the stands, on the showgrounds, or at the elaborately decorated stalls of the major horse breeders. And she was always in the company of some important breeder—several of whom Abbie had once regarded as her friends. Finally, Abbie stopped going to the parties just to avoid being upstaged by Rachel.

  Still, she wasn't able to escape all the talk about her. She had gone on a buying spree, purchasing some twenty Arabians either at the auctions or through private treaty. In the process, she had spent, some claimed, two million dollars. . . and became the new "darling" at Scottsdale.

  Even though Abbie managed to come away with placings in two of the classes, she was glad when the show was over. Her pride had suffered about all it could stand. She needed to go home and lick her wounds.

  Home. Looking around the old farmhouse, Abbie found it hard to think of it as home. River Bend was home. In her heart it would always be. But she tried not to think about that as she unpacked, because that meant thinking about Rachel.

  At least her return had brought one consolation. Dobie didn't seem inclined to renew their argument. Although she sensed that he still totally disapproved of her activities, Abbie hoped he had finally realized she wouldn't change her mind. She was never going to be the stay-at-home, dutiful little wife and mother he thought she should be. The sooner he accepted that, the better their lives would be.

  "Abbie! Hello? Are you here?" her mother called from the front part of the house.

  "I'm back here in the bedroom." She scooped the pile of dirty clothes off the bed and started to dump them in the hamper, but it was already filled to the top with the two weeks' worth of Dobie's dirty laundry. Abbie dropped them on the floor beside it, wistfully recalling the days when there were maids to cope with all this.

  "Are you resting? I. . ." Babs paused in the doorway and stared at the luggage and garment bags strewn about the room.

  "Not hardly. I'm just now getting around to unpacking." She snapped the lid closed on the empty suitcase and swung it off the bed. "It took me all morning to clean the kitchen. Did you see the dust all over? It must be an inch thick. When Dobie lived here by himself, he used to keep this house neat as a pin. But he marries me and he suddenly becomes completely helpless around the house."

  "Men can be like that."

  "Totally uncooperative, you mean," Abbie muttered, trying to hide her irritation. "I hope business picks up some more. I can hardly wait until I can afford to hire a housekeeper."

  "Couldn't you talk to Dobie about it? Surely he—"

  "—would pay someone else to do the work he thinks I should do as his wife? No, Momma. I'm not going to waste my breath trying."

  "I know that. . . you and Dobie have been having some problems. Most couples do when they're first married. There's always an adjustment period when two individuals start living together under one roof. Lately I've realized that it can't be easy for Dobie having his mother-in-law living next door."

  "He'll get used to it." Abbie removed her evening dresses from the garment bag and inspected them for stains before carrying them over to the closet to hang up.

  "Perhaps. But while you were gone, I found a small, one-bedroom condominium in Houston. I talked with Fred Childers at the bank and showed him what I've managed to earn from the parties. Of course, I'll have to use some of the money I received from Dean's estate to make the down payment, but the bank is willing to loan me the balance."

  "Momma, you aren't moving," Abbie protested.

  "I think it's best."

  "For whom? And why? Whose idea is this? Yours or Dobie's? Momma, I'm going to continue to work with you. And if Dobie doesn't like it, that's his problem." She needed a source of income, more than what she could earn training and showing horses for others, if she was ever going to have the funds to pay the stud fee and buy more broodmares. She had every intention of building a breeding operation that would not only rival Rachel's but eventually surpass it. Rachel had it all now—the horses, the power, the money, the influence—but Abbie vowed that her turn was coming. Someday, all of Scottsdale was going to be talking about her.

  "Dobie had nothing to do with my decision, although I honestly believe you two will get along better if I'm not popping in and out all the time. Besides, it will be much more convenient and practical for me to live in Houston. There won't be the time and expense of driving back and forth, not just for the parties themselves but to meet with the caterers and the suppliers, too. And I won't have all those long-distance charges on my telephone bill."

  Abbie couldn't argue with any of that. Yet she smiled. "I wish you could hear yourself, Momma. Babs Lawson, the businesswoman." She had always loved her mother, but now that love was coupled with a new respect and admiration. "I'm proud of you, Momma. I really am."

  "Look at who I had for a partner." Babs smiled, then paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "The truth is both of us have changed a lot these last several months—for the better, I might add."

  Reaching out, Abbie warmly grasped her mother's hand, finding that they were on equal ground.

  Wi
thin two weeks, Babs had moved to her condominium apartment in Houston. For Abbie, it was a strange feeling to have her mother out there in the world—on her own. She had more difficulty adjusting to this new independence of her mother's than Babs did.

  Chapter 31

  The rusty old pickup truck with a single-horse trailer in tow labored up the long incline, shuddering in the strong draft of each car that whizzed by it. On both sides of the wide swath the highway made through the mountains, the landscape was an arid and unfriendly collection of rock and sand, dotted with the scrawny clumps of sagebrush, prickly pear, and scrub grass.

  Driving with the windows down, a pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Abbie kept glancing at the temperature gauge, waiting for the truck to overheat again. A hot wind, laden with dust from the Arizona desert, blew in and whipped at her ponytail, tearing loose strands of dark hair and slapping them against her face. She ignored it, just as she ignored the throbbing ache in her lower back and the uncomfortable soreness of her full breasts, intent only on coaxing the truck to the top of the grade. She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on the horse trailer in tow and the gray filly traveling inside it.

  As they topped the rise, Abbie shifted out of low gear and sighed in relief. "It should be all downhill from here," she said to Ben, riding on the passenger side. Within minutes the desert community of metropolitan Phoenix came into view, sprawling over the mountain-ringed valley before them, a collection of towns all grown together. "I guess we don't have to wonder anymore whether Dobie's old pickup will make it this far. I just hope we don't have to make a return trip in the heat of summer. It's hot enough now in April." She doubted the pickup would be able to negotiate many of the mountain passes when summer temperatures sizzled over one hundred degrees.