“Do you really think so?”
Ramona shrugged. “Who knows? She’s stubborn. It’s possible she’d have a hard time admitting she couldn’t handle them.”
“I guess Gabriel loves them very much,” Whitney ventured, not quite comfortable with discussing the situation with Ramona, but curious enough to continue the conversation.
“He’s had them since they were babies. Kristen’s ex- husband has never been in the picture. Gabriel is the only father they’ve known. It worked out well for a while, until Claire was about two and it was obvious something was wrong.” She washed her hands and dried them on a towel. “She’s improved tremendously because she was diagnosed early. Still, Kristen couldn’t handle her alone. That’s when Gabe moved them in here, hoping Ma could help when Kristen couldn’t take any more. We all thought things were better. I guess they weren’t. Kristen left and Emma’s been acting up ever since. She’s always in trouble.” Ramona sighed. “It might be the best thing for Gabe if Lynne took her.”
“She’s asking for Eric, too.”
“That would be a shame. Eric and Gabe are close.”
“Eric is sixteen,” Whitney said carefully. “That’s old enough to choose who he wants to live with.”
Ramona poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the table. “Come on. We deserve a break and I don’t know how much longer the twins will last.” She looked at her watch. “Your ladies are due down here shortly. We’ll hear them on the stairs.”
Whitney joined her at one corner of the sunlit table. She busied herself with the mindless, homey tasks of pouring cream and stirring sugar.
Ramona continued the conversation. “California courts usually side with blood relatives, even when it seems ridiculous. Besides, lawyers and court battles are expensive. Danny’s brother has been trying to win a fair custody and child support settlement for two years. He’s spent tens of thousands of dollars and not much has changed.”
“Gabriel could have tens of thousands of dollars,” Whitney reminded her, “and we’re not talking about giving the children to a mother who’s been the major caregiver. A woman in her seventies may not be considered the best guardian for two teenagers.”
Ramona looked at her with Gabriel’s blue-green eyes. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course.”
“Please don’t be offended. I’m just curious.”
“Go on.”
“Are you interested in my brother for personal reasons? Is that why you’re here?”
Whitney opened her mouth to deny the preposterous allegation, but Ramona cut her off before she could speak. Her words were rushed, embarrassed, and obviously sincere.
“It’s ridiculous, I know, for me to think someone like you would even look twice at a man with Gabe’s baggage. But if you are interested, even a little, I want you to know that he’s a quality person. He’s educated and sensitive and loyal. He has so many interests outside of horses and the dressage center. You haven’t had any time to get to know him properly, away from all these other distractions, but if there’s even the slightest chance, I wanted to put in a good word.” She smiled shyly at Whitney. “You’re a quality person, too. I think it would give my brother such a boost of confidence to know someone like you is attracted to him, even if it didn’t come to anything.” Her smile faded. “As long as he doesn’t get hurt. I couldn’t bear it if Gabriel was hurt again.”
Whitney was speechless. She stared at the darkhaired woman for a long minute. Then she smiled. “I’m flattered,” she said. “You’ve given me a tremendous compliment.”
“But?”
Whitney laughed and gave herself some time by sipping her coffee. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly direct?”
“All the time,” Ramona said candidly. “You’re not answering the question.”
“I don’t know how to answer it,” Whitney said slowly. “I’ve never even considered Gabe in those terms.” That was an outright lie. She was ashamed of herself in the face of the other woman’s blunt honesty, but ethically she couldn’t answer any other way. “Gabe is attractive and intelligent,” she continued, “but I live in Kentucky and I may be representing a client in a transaction that involves him.”
“And yet you’re here, cooking and cleaning in his kitchen and caring for his children. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know,” Whitney answered, looking around. “There’s something about this place. I wanted to help out.” She shrugged. “It’s nice to be needed in ways no one’s ever expected of me before. Does that make sense?”
“Not entirely.”
“I’ll try to explain. At home, I’m my mother’s daughter. When I visit my parents, I fall into the role of the child-come-home. My mother feeds me, asks questions about my job, my love life, my prospects, my health. My dad talks horses with me and asks more questions about my job, my love life, my prospects and my health. I live in a town house with two bedrooms, a small yard and very little in the refrigerator except a bottle of wine, tomato juice and a tub of cottage cheese. At my office, I diplomatically work at bringing people of vastly different cultures, ethnicities and experiences together and politely coerce them into agreeing with one another and then cementing those agreements with a written contract. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Vaguely.”
“This—” she waved her hand to encompass the room “—is a completely different world for me. No one has preconceived notions of who I am or how I’m supposed to behave. No one expects me to be Whitney Benedict, international relations attorney. It’s restful. An entirely different part of my brain is being used. Here, I’m working on a timetable with different consequences if I don’t pan out. I’m enjoying your family, Gabe’s family.” She wet her lips. What was it about this young woman who inspired such confidences? “My mother’s desperate to have grandchildren,” she continued. “Until now I thought I didn’t want what she wanted. I’m giving myself this opportunity, a short one, I admit, to see if I might want it after all.”
“In other words, you’re using Gabe and his immediate family to see if you might want one of your own, a different one?”
“I guess so, although it isn’t as cold-blooded as it sounds and there are circumstances I’d rather not discuss at the moment.” She looked directly at Ramona. “Gabe does need help right now. Are you offended?”
Ramona searched her face. Whitney held her breath until she saw the woman’s smile.
“Be careful, Whitney,” she warned. “You might become emotionally involved with a man, three children and a custody battle.”
“I don’t think it will come to that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“For one thing, Gabe doesn’t appear to be the least bit interested in me romantically.”
Ramona’s eyes were very blue in the perfect oval of her face. “If you say so.” She jumped up. “I’ve got to get the boys home. Do you need me to stay or can you manage on your own?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Whitney. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. Call if you get stuck. I’ll check on you later with a few suggestions for dinner.”
Whitney helped her pack up. She watched while each toddler was strapped into his car seat.
Ramona spoke to her twins in a singsong baby voice. “Say bye-bye to Whitney.”
They drove away in a harmony of waves and goodbyes and Whitney turned back to the kitchen.
Gabriel waved the horse and rider in. He waited by the gate until the woman was close enough to hear. “You’re not focusing, Shelly,” he began. “When you turn you need to remember to adjust your position. Your weight has to be on the inside. Press down on the inside stirrup. Your leg must stay active by the girth to encourage the bend through the body. Otherwise, impulsion won’t be maintained. Your outside leg stays passive, unless the quarters start to fall out.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words. “I’m preaching to the choir. You know all thi
s. Something’s up. What is it?”
She slid off the horse, a petite redhead in her forties who looked ten years younger. Keeping hold of the reins, she approached him. “I’m just not into this today, I guess. The open house was last night. I thought you were going to drop by.”
Gabe stared at her blankly. Open house? What in the hell was she talking about? Then it hit him “Shelly, I’m sorry. My mother had an accident. I spent the whole day with her at the hospital.”
She avoided his eyes. “That’s okay. Under the circumstances, there isn’t anything else you could have done.”
“I could have called. I’m sorry,” he said again.
“No problem.”
But it was. He knew it, by her face and what she didn’t say. Shelly Sims was nice enough. Her checks were always on time and she rarely missed a day at the center. But lately, Gabe was beginning to wonder if he was as much of an attraction as Miss Mollie, her horse. Shelly was single, attractive and close enough to his own age to be interested. She insisted, in the nicest way possible, that it be Gabriel who instructed her. He acquiesced, although he didn’t normally take on students, because he couldn’t afford to lose her business. She’d invited him to the opening of her third real estate office in Calabasas, a community of single-family homes priced in the millions. He’d actually been looking forward to it, a night of mingling with adults, a world far away from horses.
He’d used his mother’s accident as an excuse, but he knew that wasn’t the reason for his lapse of memory. He hadn’t given Shelly Sims a single thought since Whitney Benedict had stepped out of her rented Chevy Impala, mostly because every moment he wasn’t spending working through the twisted tapestry of his life was spent thinking about her.
He remembered the first time he saw her, looking like no one had ever looked before, deliciously cool, at ease, serenely confident. He remembered that the breeze ruffled her slitted skirt and that she wore high heels. Her blouse was silk and wrapped around her breasts and waist, completely feminine, subtly defining her, the entire package appearing attractively in charge and professional. She had silvery-blond hair and a fudgy, back-throated laugh. She spoke to Claire as if she were an adult, and she knew horses.
He felt like a boy in the throes of his first crush and he didn’t particularly like the feeling. He didn’t want the feeling. His insecurities made him curt, nearly rude. He wanted.. .he didn’t know what he wanted. What is love? ’Tis not hereafter, present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure.
He wouldn’t go there. It was impossible. She was impossible, even though she made it seem as if they were on level playing fields.
Shelly pulled him back to the present. “You can make it up to me.”
“What?”
“Where are you, Gabe? Have you heard anything I said?”
“Sorry. I’ve got things on my mind.”
“I said you can make it up to me. I’m free for dinner.”
He groaned inwardly. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t know the moves. He wasn’t quick enough.
“That’s nice of you,” he said, “but I’ve got to get back to Ventura to check on my mother.”
“I didn’t mean tonight.”
“Oh?”
“I’m free this weekend and all next week.”
Caught in his own tangled web.
“Will you call me?”
Reprieve, albeit briefly. He nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“I look forward to it.”
He watched her lead the horse away. The weight was back on his shoulders, heavier than ever.
Sixteen
Gabriel punched in the code for home on the keypad of his cell phone and then tucked it under his ear while maneuvering his truck into the middle lane. Whitney answered on the third ring. “How are you?” he asked. “Are you okay or regretting you ever heard of the place? C’mon, be honest.”
He held his breath, expecting what he believed to be the inevitable, that Whitney would throw up her hands and tell him she’d bitten off far more than she could chew.
Unbelievably, she laughed that low, sultry laugh that should not have belonged to a cool, blond lawyer representing the Austrian government. “I have to admit that it’s a challenge, but I think I’m handling it,” she said. “Ramona helped. Your mother’s two paying guests left this afternoon and two more are due tomorrow. The kids just came home from school. Eric is on his way to the dressage center with Emma and Claire and I’m in the middle of trying to reproduce Ramona’s chicken marinade. How are you?”
“Right now, extremely grateful. I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been. I have no way of making this up to you.”
“I’m fine, really,” she said quickly, brushing off his thanks. “Are you in the car?”
“Yes. I’m on my way to visit my mother. That’s why I called. I wonder if you could meet me in town tonight. I have a few legal questions to ask you and I’d like to do it away from the house.”
“What a sad and safe way to ask me for a date,” she teased.
Suddenly he felt as lighthearted as if he were sixteen again. “I’ll try anything that works.” One second passed, then another and a few more after that. “Is it working?”
“What about the kids and dinner?”
“Eric is old enough to handle the girls for a few hours. They’ve managed soup and sandwiches before. Put the chicken in the refrigerator and meet me.”
Sandwiches weren’t what she had in mind for Claire’s diet, but she could work around it. “All right. Is casual okay?”
“It’ll have to be. I’m in my work clothes.”
“Then I’ll stay in mine. Where shall we meet?”
“There’s an Italian place called Donatelli’s on Fifth and Main in Ventura. It’s not fancy, but the food’s good. Is six o’clock too soon?”
“I’ll be there.”
Gabriel replaced the phone. It had been a long time since he’d felt so optimistic. Nothing had changed for the better. In fact, a great deal was worse. His mother wasn’t well and he faced a child-custody lawsuit, neither of which he could do anything about at the moment. He knew his emotions were short-lived and had everything to do with Whitney and the dinner ahead of him. It was temporary, but so was life. So much of what he’d once believed would be forever really wasn’t. He would take what was offered, as it was offered, and not worry about how long it would last.
Mercedes looked unusually helpless lying in the hospital bed shrouded in blankets, an IV attached to her arm. The tray of food by her side was untouched.
Gabriel entered the room and sat down beside her. “You aren’t eating, Ma,” he said gently.
She fixed her black eyes on him. “This isn’t food, Gabriel. A dog shouldn’t have to eat this food.”
“You have to eat something. The broth looks okay and so does the Jell-O. Nobody can do much damage to those.”
“Jell-O is a child’s dessert,” she pouted. “Adults don’t eat Jell-O, and I don’t like broth. Why eat anything at all?”
“You won’t get anything else,” he warned her.
Her eyes turned hopeful. “Maybe you could bring me something, some nice lasagna or a pizza. Casa Consuelo’s is open until five. You could bring me some enchiladas or chili rellenos.”
“I can’t bring food like that into the hospital, Ma,” he said patiently. “Besides, it’s not good for you.”
She struggled to sit up. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Who are you to tell me what’s good for me? I’m seventy-six years old. I’ve lived longer than anyone in my family. If I hadn’t tripped, I wouldn’t be in here and this nonsense wouldn’t be happening.”
He ignored her. “Has Pilar been to see you?”
“I sent her away.”
“Why?”
“She’s like you, too full of her own advice.”
He tried to change the subject. “Ramona came to the house today to help Whitney.”
“She called this morning. I tol
d her not to bother to come here. I’ll be home before she figures out what to do with the boys.”
Gabe nodded. When his mother was in a mood, it was best to humor her. “Has the doctor been here?”
“He was in this afternoon, but he wants to talk to you.” She tightened her lips stubbornly. “I told him I wouldn’t take that cholesterol medication, mijito.”
Gabriel mentally counted to ten. “Why not?” he asked pleasantly.
“I don’t like taking pills. They make me gag.”
“You take vitamins.”
“Those aren’t pills, and I don’t swallow them whole. I pound them with my mortar and pestle, mix them up with orange juice and drink them. I never could take pills.”
“Did he say what might be contributing to your high cholesterol?”
“No.” She wouldn’t look at him. “But I told him I was too old to go on a diet.”
“You’re right.”
She glared at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to change lifelong habits, which is probably the reason the doctor suggested cholesterol medication. It’s one or the other, Ma. You can’t keep going like this. One of the kids is going to come home and find you on the floor. Do you want that?”
“Of course not.”
He leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Will you think about this? For me? Please?”
Her eyes filled. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, mijito. You know that.”
“Take the pills, Ma. We don’t want to lose you anytime soon.”
She pulled one hand away and reached for the spoon on her tray. “Pull the lid off the broth, Gabriel. Maybe I will try it, and the Jell-O, too. Next time ask them to bring a little chicken and potatoes. I don’t like overcooked beef, unless it’s inside a tortilla.” She pushed the meat around on her plate. “Maybe you could bring me some homemade salsa. I should be able to eat salsa. You know how to make it, don’t you, mijito? I could give Whitney the recipe if you don’t have time.”
“Whitney’s done enough for us,” he said quickly. “It isn’t good to get so dependent on her.”
The Lavender Field Page 17
