Her eyes, which had rested on each of them briefly while she spoke, now focused on Gabriel. “I don’t think I need to go on. I’m sure you’re very well aware of the role General Patton, Colonel Podhajsky and your father played in saving the horses from the Russians during the Second World War. As I said before, Austria wants the direct descendants of Siglavy, from the stables of Prince Schwarzenberg.”
“Surely,” said Gabriel, “since you’ve done your homework so well, you know that the line my father was entrusted with was entirely out of Siglavy, through the stallion he brought with him, Protocol.”
“Yes, and the mares, Madeleine and Perdita.”
“That would be my entire stock.”
She frowned. “Are you telling me that you’ve kept the breed entirely pure?”
“No, of course not. But I don’t keep foals bred to other lines. They’re sold before they’re bred. That’s how the farm makes its money.”
“I thought you were a dressage center.”
“The lessons and our boarders bring us a regular income. Everything else, any improvements, machinery, construction, comes from the sale of stock. My father’s reputation, and mine, were built on the backs of the Lipizzaners. If they go, this place closes down.”
“How many horses do you have?”
“Three stallions, all young, sixteen mares, one not so young, and one foal with another six on the way.”
Whitney leaned forward. It was time to lay her cards on the table and make the offer she’d given up the Bermuda cruise for. “The currency will be in United States dollars,” she said clearly. “I’ve been instructed to offer you two million for every stallion, another two million for every mare between ten and fifteen years old, one million for mares under ten years old, five hundred thousand for every pregnant mare and another five million for all healthy foals, collectively, even those in utero.”
Someone gasped. Whitney did the math for them. “The offer is for thirty-two million dollars.”
She didn’t bother to editorialize about generosity. The money spoke for itself. Picking up her plate, she stood. “I’ll leave you alone to discuss it. If you don’t mind, I’ll take these delicious tamales out to the patio and finish eating them. Then I’ll take a walk.”
No one, not even Mercedes, said a word for a full two minutes after she left the room. Then they all spoke at once.
Eight
Luz’s voice, higher and sharper than the others, prevailed. “My God. Thirty-two million dollars. Gabe, is there anything to discuss?”
He didn’t answer.
Pilar pushed her plate away. “None of us would have to worry about anything again.”
“Do you worry about much now?” her brother asked.
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” he said, piercing her with his diamond-sharp gaze. “Exactly what do you mean?”
“Ma wouldn’t have to rent out rooms, for one thing,” she replied. “Ramona could open her own restaurant. You wouldn’t be dependent on the approval of your medical insurance to find the best doctors for Claire, and Luz—” She stopped.
“What about Luz?”
“Luz doesn’t need anything,” his sister muttered.
“You haven’t said anything about yourself, Pilar. What do you need?”
She looked at him defiantly. “I’m in some debt, if you really want to know. Where is it written that the oldest son inherits the family business?”
“That isn’t fair, Pilar,” Mercedes interrupted. “No one else was interested in working the business except Gabriel.”
“It could have been sold.”
“You should be grateful he didn’t sell it,” her mother countered. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be entertaining an offer in the millions from the Austrian government.”
“If Gabriel will entertain it. It’s not looking that way.”
Gabriel spoke carefully to his sister. “I didn’t know you were in trouble, Pilar. If you needed money, you could have said something.”
Pilar sighed. “I know that. But you don’t have money to give, Gabe. You’re always worried about making ends meet. How could I ask you for help when your financial problems are bigger than mine?”
“We have enough to get by.”
“Do you?” She challenged him. “Do you really?”
He felt the burn in his chest and cheeks. “If that’s how you feel, all of you, then we’ll sell.”
His mother frowned. “What is it, mijito, that you aren’t telling us? Why are you resistant even in the face of this opportunity?”
Collectively, they leaned forward, in a gesture of solidarity, to understand him. He felt a rush of love for them: his mother, his sisters, his late father, his first family.
“I’m not sure this will make any sense to you,” he began, “because I haven’t really thought it through, but I’ll try to explain.” To give himself another minute, he reached for the coffeepot and poured himself another cup. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t know if he wanted to turn down Whitney Benedict’s extremely tempting offer. What he did know was that he was bothered by selling off his Lipizzaners even for such an enormous return on his money. He needed time to analyze both sides, but apparently he wasn’t going to be allowed that luxury. How often did they get together like this, just the five of them without husbands and children? He had to make them understand.
He looked around the table making eye contact with each one of them. “It’s like this. Two of those horses were born the year I went to kindergarten. They’re the result of a lifetime of training, Dad’s and mine. They’re all I have left of him. He died before his time. He was my best friend. I know we all miss him, but he and I had a bond, the only males in the family.” He summoned a smile. “I wasn’t ready to let him go when he died. Every time I walk into Lorelei’s stall, or Damien’s, or any of the horses he personally trained, I can picture him there with them.” He drew a long, deep breath. “I’m afraid that if I send the horses back to Austria, I’ll lose Dad altogether. Maybe it isn’t fair to all of you. Maybe six- and-a-half-million dollars apiece is reason enough to move on. I’m not going to make that decision on my own. It’s up to all of you, too. Together, if you vote the same way, your interest is greater than mine. Money, no matter how much, isn’t worth losing my family. But I have to tell you, six million dollars will be different for you than for me. This is my life. I’m forty years old. I’m too young to retire and I don’t know anything else besides horses. Six million will be about what it takes to start over again.”
Tears spilled down Luz’s cheeks. Ramona’s eyes were brighter than usual, and Pilar blew her nose, hard. Mercedes reached out, gripping Gabriel with one hand and Pilar with the other. They were all her children. This was not the time to take sides. “Everyone here feels the same way, Gabriel,” she said gently. “We are a family. We’ll keep at this until we reach a compromise.” She looked around the table. “Is everyone agreed?”
Together, they nodded.
She sat back, satisfied. “I propose that we wait one week and see where we are after we’ve thought about this. Until then, Whitney will stay with us. We’ll assure her that she’ll have an answer at the end of the week.”
“She’s a busy woman, Ma,” Gabriel protested. “She isn’t going to want to stay here with us. Besides, it isn’t necessary. We’ll call her when we’ve made a decision.”
Mercedes frowned. If Gabriel didn’t want a beautiful, intelligent woman around him for a week, he’d been hurt harder than she thought. Instead of arguing, she shrugged. “You may be right. I’ll ask her. She mentioned something about a vacation. Maybe she’d like to explore Southern California.”
The girls were uncharacteristically silent. Finally, Gabriel stood. “I have to get back to work. I have a show this weekend.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t stay away too long,” he said to his sisters. Then he left the room.
Pilar swallowed. “I guess I was a little tough on him.”
Luz sipped her coffee. She looked thoughtful. “Has he heard from Kristen?”
Her mother snorted. “Her own children haven’t heard from Kristen. I say good riddance to that one.”
“She was his wife, Ma,” Ramona said. “They have a history together. Whatever we thought about her doesn’t really matter. Gabe’s sensitive. He’s not going to get over a marriage that lasted more than ten years as soon as we might want him to.”
“It’s been two years,” replied Mercedes.
“Eighteen months,” Luz corrected her. “I think you might be pushing Whitney on him before he’s ready.”
Mercedes rested both hands on the table. “I’m his mother,” she said. “I know him better than anyone. The best cure for Gabriel is for him to find someone else. Whitney is a lovely, accomplished woman. She’ll be good for him.”
Ramona’s eyes widened. “Ma, you’ve got to be kidding. What would a woman like her want with Gabriel?”
Her mother’s eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean. It’s obvious. Whitney Benedict has a lucrative career. She’s single and childless. Gabe is a terrific guy, but he comes with nearly insurmountable baggage.”
“Don’t use those big words with me, young lady. What is this baggage everyone talks about nowadays? He has three children. So what? He’s handsome, he owns his own business and, if he plays his cards right, he could be a multimillionaire. What’s so terrible about that?”
“You heard him, Ma,” Pilar said. “He doesn’t want to sell.” She whistled. “He’s crazy. Six million apiece. What I could do with that.”
“I also heard him say that he would if we wanted it.”
Luz stared at her mother. “You can’t honestly believe we’d do something that would make Gabe miserable.”
“Thirty-two million dollars isn’t something to turn down without very good reasons. I’m not sure sentimentality is enough. Sometimes, we do what’s best, even if the person we’re doing it for doesn’t know it yet.” Mercedes stood and pushed her chair in. “I’ve said my piece. Stay as long as you like. I have to move Whitney to the room with the balcony. She’ll like that one better.”
Ramona waited for her mother to reach the second- floor landing before speaking. “I can’t believe it. She’s doing it again.”
“She only wants him to be happy,” said Luz. “Pilar’s right about the money. He needs it. It’s too much to turn down.”
Ramona spoke up. “You heard him. After taxes, six million would just cover the cost of starting over again. If Gabe is set against selling his business, I, for one, don’t want to make him.”
“It might not be so bad,” suggested Pilar.
Ramona stared at her. “Just how bad is your financial picture?”
“I’m not talking about the money.”
“What, then?”
“Maybe Ma’s right about finding someone to replace Kristen.”
“No, Pilar.” Ramona shook her head vehemently. “Ma can’t manipulate people into a relationship when they’re not ready.”
“That’s the point. If they don’t connect, there’s no harm done. If they do, all the better. People can only be manipulated so far and then it works or it doesn’t. Whitney’s a nice-enough woman. Gabe could do worse. He did do worse. Why not give it a chance?”
“Gabe could get hurt, that’s why. Hasn’t he been through enough? What if he falls for this woman and she goes back to Kentucky?”
“Of course she’ll go back to Kentucky,” said Luz. “Her job is there.”
“What difference does that make?” asked Pilar. “People have long-distance relationships. Air travel isn’t all that expensive. Maybe it would be a good thing if she didn’t live here. Gabe’s busy. She’s busy. It might give him something to look forward to. You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“More like out of sight, out of mind,” said Ramona.
“I’m worried about what it will do to him if it doesn’t work out,” Luz said.
“At least he’ll be over Kristen. Ma’s right. No one is really over a relationship until they have a new one.”
Ramona was clearly exasperated. “Pilar, you’ve never had a relationship that’s lasted more than six months. You have no experience. Gabe was married to Kristen. They have a child together.”
“I agree with Pilar,” Luz said unexpectedly, “and I’ve been married for fifteen years. If he and Whitney hit it off and it doesn’t work, at least he’ll know there’s the possibility of finding someone else. I’m not sure he knows that now. Frankly, I’m concerned about his judgment. People don’t turn down thirty-two million dollars.”
“Does he want to find someone else?” asked Ramona, ignoring her sister’s money comment. “What about what Gabe wants?”
“If he’s not interested, we’ll know in a week. As Pilar said, there’s no harm done.”
Ramona sighed. “I give up. Count me out. You’re all insane. This is going to be a very interesting week.”
Whitney followed the pounded dirt road to the edge of the lavender field. Even though she was shaded on both sides by olive trees, the sun was hot on her head. She couldn’t explain her fascination with Mercedes’s lavender crop. But the color and the aroma surrounded her in a haze of well-being. For the first time in years she felt completely relaxed. Meandering through the fragrant blooms, she occasionally stopped, closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sky and listened. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the faint hum of a plane. Unfamiliar birds called to one another, leaves rustled and a light wind lifted the hair from her shoulders. Bees heavy with pollen ignored her and explored the tiny flowers that made up the tall stalks. The waistband of her jeans felt tight, and very soon she would need to find a bathroom, but right now she felt unusually, utterly calm, as if everything was moving forward as it should.
She thought back to her meeting with the Mendozas. The family dynamics were interesting. First of all, their name was an anomaly. Why Mendoza, after Mercedes, instead of Kohnle, their father’s name? What kind of man was Franz Kohnle, other than a risk-taker willing to give up all he knew to smuggle priceless horses out of Austria and begin all over again in a country hostile to his own? How much had he influenced his children? Where did Mercedes fit in and why had her three beautiful daughters chosen fields outside the family business?
Various possibilities occurred to her as she walked alone in the temperate, golden Southern California morning, thick with the smells of lavender, sage, gorse, wild mustard and horses, always horses. Whitney smiled as she checked her watch and reluctantly turned back to the house. Somehow, she always found her way back to her roots. She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.
She found Claire sitting alone on a swing in the back of the house, not really swinging but dragging her feet back and forth over the bare patch of ground below her. Not wanting to scare her, Whitney circled around to the front so the child could see that she was approaching. “Hello, there,” she said, smiling. “Are you taking abreak?”
Claire glanced her way briefly and then, with a sweep of her magnificent eyelashes, looked down at her feet.
“Would you like me to push you?” Whitney asked.
Again, the child didn’t respond.
Whitney sat down in the second swing and, using her feet, propelled herself backward. Then she lifted her feet from the ground and swung forward. She glanced at Claire. Obviously, the child was lonely. How much fun could it be for a little girl to be taught at home with no one to play with? Why didn’t Gabriel send her to school? Surely there were schools for children like Claire.
She bent her knees as the swing moved back and straightened them on the forward glide. Unconsciously she repeated the motion again and then again until she was fairly high off the ground.<
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Suddenly she heard a peal of laughter. Claire was pumping with her legs, gaining on Whitney until they swung in tandem. Intense in their concentration, they moved together until Whitney’s full stomach protested by turning queasy. Reluctantly, she relaxed her legs until her swing slowed.
Claire, her cheeks glowing, skidded to a stop beside her. “That was fun,” she said. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I was a kid once. When I was little my dad used to push me on the swings in my yard.”
Claire nodded. “So did mine.”
“Is your teacher gone for the day?”
“No. She’s talking to my grandma. I’m supposed to be taking a little break.”
“How long have you known Mrs. Cook?”
Claire shrugged and looked away. “A while.”
Her mood had definitely changed. It was clear that Claire no longer wanted to communicate. But Whitney refused to be put off. “Do you like having her come out here to teach you?” she persisted.
Minutes passed before the child answered. “I like her,” she finally said.
“She seems nice,” Whitney agreed.
Claire stared at her feet.
Searching for something, anything, that would bring the little girl to life again, Whitney looked around. The three cars that belonged to Mercedes’s daughters were no longer there. “Your aunts were here this morning.” She didn’t expect a response. “I wonder if you had a chance to see them, or maybe you were too busy with Mrs. Cook. They’re all very nice.” She looked appraisingly at Claire. “I think you look the most like your aunt Ramona. She has the same blue eyes, but your eyelashes are longer. Where, I wonder, did you get them?”
She would have gone on in the same inane vein but Sheila Cook stepped out on to the porch. “Claire,” she called out, “it’s time to come in.”
Whitney waited until Claire was on the porch with her teacher before releasing her breath. Why did a little girl with a handicap, a little girl she barely knew, make her so edgy?
The Lavender Field Page 9
