Heiress

by Janet Dailey

  "Alex is probably like a lot of boys," Abbie guessed. "He doesn't want to admit to a girl that he's scared. It would be too embarrassing."

  "You're probably right."

  Just then Eden saw MacCrea and let out a squeal of delight. "Mac!" She ran across the infield, pulling the pony along by its reins. Alex lagged behind, steering wide of the animal's hindquarters. Intent on the children, Abbie wasn't aware MacCrea had moved away from her until she saw him walking across the track to greet Eden. She led Windstorm over to them, reaching them as MacCrea swung Eden into the air and stood her on the top rail. "How did you get here?" Eden looked around for his company pickup.

  "Magic." He winked.

  Eden eyed him skeptically, then turned to Abbie. "Mommy, how'd he get here?"

  "He walked."

  "I knew it wasn't magic." She directed a sternly reproving look at MacCrea, then giggled. "You're silly."

  "So are you." He tweaked her nose.

  "No, I'm not." She jumped down from the rail and grabbed his hand. "I want you to meet my friend. He's got a truck and the wheels are bigger than it is. Wait until you see it." Turning, Eden waved at Alex, motioning for him to join them. "Come show him your truck."

  But Alex hung back. "Alex knows I've already seen his truck," MacCrea said.

  "When?" Eden demanded in surprise, then frowned. "Do you know Alex?"

  "I sure do." He smiled.

  "Do I have to go home now?" Alex raised his head, reluctance in every line of his face.

  MacCrea glanced briefly at Abbie. She had the impression that he, too, was unwilling to break this up. "Your father's home. He will be wondering where you are. And your mother's probably missed you, too."

  "No, she hasn't," Alex said, again with a bitter resentment that Abbie recognized too well. He added something else that sounded a lot like "She never misses me," but Abbie couldn't be sure.

  "Just the same, we probably should leave," MacCrea said quietly, then cast a sidelong glance at Abbie. "You understand?"

  "Of course." If they did start looking for Alex, she knew it was better that they didn't find him here.

  "Does he have to go now? Can't he stay a little longer?" Eden pleaded in protest. "I wanted to take him to the slough by the creek. He doesn't think there's any alligators in it and I wanted to show him. Please."

  "Maybe another time, Eden." He laid a hand on top of her head and gave it a little push down.

  Eden grimaced at the refusal, then pursued the carrot MacCrea had offered. "Maybe you can come over tomorrow, Alex, and we can go then. We'll be here, won't we, Mommy?"

  "Yes," Abbie admitted uneasily, realizing she was going to have to have a talk with her daughter. She dreaded trying to explain to Eden why Alex's parents might not want him playing with her. How could she make Eden understand, when she no longer understood it herself? Yet once she had hated Rachel with all the venom of a Texas rattler. Her hatred for Rachel was gone, but she feared their long-standing feud was about to start poisoning their children, and she didn't know how to stop it.

  "Will you come, Alex?" Eden persisted.

  "I don't know if I can." The boy shuffled his feet uncomfortably and stole a look at MacCrea.

  "Please try," Eden wheedled. "We'll have lots of fun."

  But Alex was obviously unwilling to commit himself as he chewed on his lower lip. MacCrea stepped into the void. "Come on, sport. We'd better go."

  Stymied by Alex, Eden turned her persuasive efforts on MacCrea. "You'll come see us again, won't you?"

  "Of course. Real soon," he promised, then glanced at Abbie, knowing it was up to her to set the time and place. "You know how to reach me."

  She assumed it was through his Richmond office, but she simply nodded in affirmation rather than ask.

  As they crossed the field, Alex walked with his head down and the truck tucked under his arm. The closer they got to the fence, the slower he walked, practically dragging his feet and forcing MacCrea to shorten his stride even more.

  "You're very quiet," MacCrea remarked. It was something of an understatement. Alex hadn't said one word.

  Beyond the dark trunks of the shade trees in the lawn, the large Victorian manor house glistened whitely in the sunlight. Alex eyed their destination with a look that was filled with misgivings. As his glance dropped away from the wide veranda with all its fancy gingerbread trim, he sighed heavily.

  "Mother is gonna be mad at me 'cause I was over there." The corners of his mouth were turned down as far as they could go.

  "What makes you say that?" MacCrea frowned sharply.

  "'Cause I don't think she likes that lady."

  "How do you know?"

  "Sometimes when she sees her riding her white horse over there, her mouth gets all tight and her eyes look mean. And she. . . she says things about her."

  MacCrea wondered how many more people besides himself were going to pay the price for Abbie and Rachel's bitter rivalry before it was over. For the time being at least, Abbie appeared to be unwilling to involve the children in it. But he knew her too well. All it would take was one push from Rachel and she'd shove back. Abbie wasn't the kind to turn the other cheek. She always struck back, and, dammit, he didn't want Eden getting caught in the crossfire.

  "Are you going to tell her where I was?"

  It was a full second before Alex's anxious voice registered. MacCrea paused a second longer, then smiled thinly. "Not if you don't want me to."

  A smile of gratitude and relief broke across the sensitive planes of the boy's face. MacCrea wondered briefly whether he was right to encourage him, then decided it couldn't be any more wrong than what Rachel and Abbie were doing.

  As they reached the fence, MacCrea heard Rachel calling for Alex. Then Lane's voice joined in. "Sounds like they're looking for you, sport." He picked up Alex under the arms and hoisted him over the fence. The search seemed to be concentrated in the backyard and over by the barns. "Better hurry. I think your father is in the back."

  Alex broke into a run, darting between the young trees planted several years ago to replace the ones destroyed in the fire. As the boy angled for the rear of the house, MacCrea followed, taking a straighter route.

  "Alex!" Lane called, his back turned to them.

  "Here I am, Daddy!" Alex raced past the gazebo with its lacy white latticework, heading straight for his silver-haired father.

  Turning, Lane saw him and called over his shoulder. "Rachel! I've found him. He's over here!" As he crouched down on one knee to greet Alex, Rachel hurried from the direction of the barns with Ross behind her. "We've been looking all over for you, Alex. Didn't you hear us calling?"

  "I. . . I came as fast as I could." Breathless from running and uncertain of his reception, Alex moved hesitantly within reach of Lane's hands, then let himself be drawn closer when Rachel approached them.

  "Alex! Lane, is he hurt? What happened?"

  "He's fine," Lane assured her.

  "How could you run off like that, Alex?" Rachel demanded, her anxiety turning to anger now that he was found. "Where have you been?"

  Alex avoided her accusing look. "Playing. . . with my truck," he answered.

  "Yes, but where? We've been looking everywhere for you," she stated impatiently. Alex darted a fearful glance at MacCrea, then clamped his mouth tightly shut. "You had us all so worried, Alex. I thought you were outside playing in the yard, but when your father came home and we couldn't find you. . . I was afraid you were hurt or something—especially when you didn't come when we called."

  "I'm sorry." He edged closer to Lane. MacCrea noticed the way Rachel's lips thinned. The door shut on the concern that had been in her expression. A coolness replaced it.

  "Now that your father's home I'm sure you won't be running off to your secret place to play." She straightened and turned to Ross. "I think I'll go to the barn and talk to Mr. Woodall about my plans for Sirocco. Would you like to come along?"

  "Sure."

  As the pair set off together,
Lane watched them, expressionless except for the pained look in his eyes. With difficulty he pushed to his feet, fighting the stiffness in his aging joints. "Come on, son." He took Alex by the hand. "Let's go in the house and get you cleaned up. It looks like you've been grubbing in the dirt."

  MacCrea swung alongside as they headed for the house.

  Chapter 42

  A roar came from the crowd in the racing stands, cheering on the horses running for the wire, as a groom led the gleaming white stallion past the stalls to the paddock area. Abbie walked alongside, the blue-on-blue jacquard silk of her dress and the silk scarf tied around the band of her wide-brimmed hat matching Windstorm's racing colors.

  Her nerves were as tautly drawn as piano wire, and the palms of her hands were damp with perspiration. She was certain that she was more nervous than Alex had been last week when Eden had persuaded him to ride double with her on JoJo. Afterward Alex had said to her, "Maybe if I learned to ride, my mother would like me better." His comment had seemed an ironic echo of the past. Long ago, Abbie had turned to horses as well, in hopes of gaining her father's approval.

  Alex had become a regular visitor, sneaking over to play with Eden whenever he could. Sometimes Abbie wondered whether she was right to let him come, but Eden needed a playmate her own age as much as Alex did, and his timidness balanced her boldness, each of them learning something from the other. But. . . there was Rachel to consider.

  There was always Rachel, Abbie reminded herself, suddenly restless and agitated. Why was she letting thoughts about Rachel spoil a dazzling, beautiful June day? Windstorm was running in the next race. Why wasn't she enjoying the excitement instead of getting herself all worked up over Rachel?

  But Abbie knew the answer to that one. This morning she'd learned from a fellow Arabian horse owner that Rachel's stallion, Sirocco, had won his race yesterday—by three lengths. In two and a half weeks, her stallion would be racing against Windstorm in the Liberty Classic, providing Windstorm finished well in this prep race today. He has to, Abbie thought, determined that he would not only win this race, but the Liberty Classic as well—the race that everyone was calling the Champion of Champions race. Windstorm was going to be that Champion. Abbie couldn't stand the thought of losing to Rachel again.

  Eden tugged at her hand. "Mommy, do you think Mac's here?" A perplexed frown creased her child-smooth features as she scanned the small crowd that had gathered outside the paddock.

  "I don't know." But Abbie knew he was supposed to be.

  For the last three and half months, she had arranged these "accidental" meetings so MacCrea could spend time with his daughter as she had promised, a task that had become increasingly difficult since Dobie had learned a month ago that MacCrea was back in the area. Twice Dobie had questioned her about him, wanting to know if she had seen or talked to him. Abbie admitted that she had, but she had tried to make it sound like that's all there was to it. She doubted that Dobie believed her. His unspoken suspicions and her own sense of guilt had added more strain to an already unstable marriage.

  Abbie couldn't decide what to do about it. In the beginning, she had secretly hoped that MacCrea would get tired of playing father and go away, and things could be the way they were. But watching the bond between MacCrea and Eden grow, she knew now that wasn't going to happen. Sometimes she wondered who she was deceiving by maintaining this farce: Eden, Dobie, or herself.

  "But Mac always comes to watch Windstorm race. Why isn't he here today?" Eden persisted, plainly troubled by his absence. More evidence of how much she looked forward to being with him.

  I don't know," Abbie repeated. "Maybe he was too busy."

  When she had talked to him earlier in the week, MacCrea had told her that he planned to fly in from a drilling site in Wyoming and anticipated arriving around noon. Bad weather may have delayed him, since he was making the trip in the company plane instead of a commercial airliner. But if he'd run into a storm, why hadn't he called and left a message for her? Unless. . . Abbie remembered the photograph she'd seen in the morning paper of a private plane that had crashed during a storm. She suddenly felt cold—and a little frightened.

  A large hand pressed itself against the back of her waist. Startled by the contact, Abbie turned into the curve of its arm and stared at MacCrea, alive and well, smiling that lazy smile that was so achingly familiar.

  "MacCrea. You made it safely after all," she murmured, relief sweeping through her.

  "Did you think I wouldn't?" His dark gaze centered on her with an intensity that gave Abbie the feeling that he could see right into her heart.

  For a split second, everything was blocked out. She didn't even hear Eden clamoring to be noticed. "I. . . We. . . Eden wondered whether you were going to come today or not."

  "Only Eden?" As the pressure of his hand on her back increased slightly, Abbie had the fleeting impression he was going to kiss her. Instead, he reached down and scooped up Eden.

  "You really didn't think I wasn't going to be here today to cheer for Windstorm, did you?" MacCrea chided Eden. "You were the one who made me an official member of his rooting section."

  "I know. But I looked and looked and didn't see you anywhere. And Mommy said maybe you were too busy to come."

  "She said that, did she?" He hoisted Eden a little higher in his arms and partially turned to include Abbie in the range of his vision. "She was wrong. No matter what, I'll never be too busy to come. I can't stand up my favorite girl, now, can I?"

  "You were awfully late," Eden reminded him. "It's almost time for the race. They've already taken Windstorm into the paddock so they can put the saddle on him."

  "I know, and I'm sorry about that. I got caught in traffic on my way here from the airport. There was an accident and the road was blocked."

  "Is that what kept you? I thought—" Abbie broke it off abruptly, not wanting to reveal the fear she'd had.

  "Yes?" MacCrea prompted, casting a curious look in her direction.

  "Never mind. Let's go into the paddock. I want to speak to the trainer before they give the call to saddle up." As she started toward the enclosure, she was forced to wait while a groom led another Arabian entrant through the opening.

  "You're slipping, Abbie." MacCrea stood beside her, still carrying Eden in his arms. "You're going to have to watch yourself more closely."

  "Why? What do you mean?" She frowned.

  "The way you looked at me when I arrived, a person could get the idea you were glad to see me." His voice mocked her, but his gaze didn't.

  Abbie didn't try to deny it. She couldn't. It was true. Just for an instant, she'd foolishly let her emotions rule. That was a mistake—a mistake she could easily make again with MacCrea. There were times when she wished she could just take Eden and run away—run from MacCrea and Dobie and this whole convoluted mess. But there were her mother, Ben, and the horses to consider. She wished MacCrea had never come back. Everything had been so simple before. She was trying desperately to hold on to that, but he was complicating her life in ways she didn't want.

  In the paddock, Abbie conferred briefly with Windstorm's trainer, Joe Gibbs. She wasn't sure what she accomplished except to gain his reassurance that he considered the stallion fit and ready for the race—and to escape MacCrea's company. After weighing in, the jockey joined them, wearing blue-on-blue racing silks and carrying the light racing saddle and number cloth.

  As the trainer personally saddled Windstorm, Abbie watched from the side, feeling totally superfluous. Still, she was reluctant to leave just yet. She glanced around the paddock at the half-dozen other Arabian horses entered in the race, all but two of them seasoned veterans of the track with respectable records. The favorite, a handsome chestnut with a slightly plain head, had lost only two races so far this season.

  "You seem nervous." MacCrea remarked.

  She glanced at him from under the brim of her hat, noticing that Eden was no longer with him. Ben was now the one being besieged by her endless questions. "Nervou
s, anxious, excited, worried," Abbie admitted, but she knew MacCrea was responsible for part of her tension. "Windstorm has some stiff competition today."

  "You don't sound very confident. Have you forgotten that he's won all three of his previous races?"

  "No. But he's never raced a mile before either—or against horses of this caliber. I have cause to be concerned. I don't think you realize how important this race is. How well he does here will decide whether we run him in the Liberty Classic on the Fourth."

  "I thought he was already entered."

  "He is. But if he can't handle distance, we'll pull him. The Liberty is a mile and a quarter." She shifted her attention to the silver-white stallion, eagerly alert yet at the same time indifferent to the fussing of the trainer and groom. "He has to win. He just has to."

  "You've heard then."

  Abbie stiffened. She wanted to pretend that she didn't know what he meant, but she knew she could never fool MacCrea. "About Sirocco's victory? Yes."

  Ben came over, firmly leading Eden by the hand. "We should go find our seats now. Soon it will be time for the race."

  After wishing the jockey luck, they left the paddock area and made their way to their seats in the owners' boxes to await the parade to the post. Eden was too excited to sit down, leaving the seat between Abbie and MacCrea empty.

  It was always a struggle for Abbie to pretend to ignore him, but today it seemed even more difficult for her. She tried to blame it on the rising tension she felt over the upcoming race, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that she had unwittingly admitted something during those few moments of fear earlier when she thought his plane might have crashed. For once she welcomed the distraction of Eden's nonstop chatter.

  "Mommy, did you remember to bet the money Grandma gave you for the race?"

  "Ben did earlier. He has the ticket."

  "How much will she win?"

  "Nothing if Windstorm doesn't, honey." Fully aware that that answer would never satisfy her daughter, Abbie glanced at the odds board. At the moment the number-four horse, Windstorm, was listed at seven to one. It was hardly reassuring to discover that the oddsmakers obviously didn't regard her stallion as much of a threat. "She'll win somewhere around seventy dollars."