Foxy Roxy

by Nancy Martin

  The kid laughed nervously, but he had his shirt off a minute later, and they wrestled a little. The truck’s windows began to steam up, and the kid proved he was very teachable. Nothing like a little love with the perfect stranger to take a girl’s mind off her troubles.

  15

  At the crack of dawn, Henry took another browbeating phone call from Dorothy Hyde. A call that reminded him how much he preferred his client comatose.

  “Call me when you find my Achilles,” she said after a tirade about his lack of progress. “Or you can polish up your résumé, Henry. I haven’t got long to live, and I want that statue.”

  So he swallowed a Rolaids tablet with some coffee, showered, and dressed while watching a little SportsCenter and thinking up a new plan. Trouble was, he kept thinking about Roxy Abruzzo instead. And how he’d somehow lost a round with her. It made him feel uneasy. The sex was great. The afterglow, unsettling.

  Revived by the caffeine, he went outside into the sunshine. He’d left his BMW parked outdoors in the brick courtyard between the great house and the stables instead of parking it inside the carriage house with the other vehicles that belonged to the estate.

  Outside in the cool October air, Monica Hyde galloped up on a black horse the size of a rogue elephant. She wore jeans, boots, and a red fleece jacket, and she looked like a girl. Her blond hair danced in the breeze, and Henry wondered if maybe she had intentionally worn it loose, just for him. The horse’s hooves clattered on the bricks, and the noise echoed against the tall walls of the nearby house, very Masterpiece Theater. The scene needed only Helen Mirren to be perfect.

  Henry might have tossed Monica a gallant compliment, but the damn horse was snorting and stamping, and he looked capable of biting Henry’s arm off.

  “Good morning, Henry!” Monica sat happily on the enormous animal and seemed unconcerned by the beast’s antics. “You’re up early!”

  “Good God, Monica, be careful up there!”

  Monica laughed. “Isn’t he amazing? I’d completely forgotten Dorothy still kept the horses here.”

  “Just two. I pay their feed bills. They eat like—well, horses. The vet and the farrier cost a fortune, too.”

  “Worth every penny,” Monica declared. “Do we still have a membership in the hunt club? I’d love to ride this Saturday, if they’re going out.”

  “They have archaic rules, but I’m sure they’d bend a few for you.” He kept his distance from the horse. “Unless you think it might be inappropriate, Monica. How are the arrangements coming along for Julius?”

  “Quentin’s working on the funeral. Several business leaders have expressed interest in attending. And the Dow inquired about paying respects, too. It’s quite a fraternity. I had no idea. But there’s some awful business about releasing the body, you know.”

  “I see.”

  The television news was still full of Julius’s death, the investigation into his murder, and the plight of the poor homeless chap who was still the prime suspect. But there was plenty of media speculation about the family, too. Lots of recycled photos of Monica in handcuffs, Quentin’s CEO portrait, and Trey looking silly in a scuba suit. Someone had found a picture of Julius’s children all gathered around a polo pony.

  Thankfully, Quentin had managed to control the family, it seemed. Not one of them made any statements or teary appearances on camera. Quentin’s daily press releases were predictable and succinct: The family appreciated the public outpouring of condolences and had nothing further to say.

  Most everyone else on the local television stations burbled briefly about Julius’s good works before plunging into tawdry talk about his private life. Some intrepid reporter found Kaylee Falcone’s high school photograph, mortarboard and all. Henry expected the fraternity of CEOs all wanted to know the circumstances of Julius’s death before hopping on their jets and putting themselves in front of any cameras on his behalf.

  Monica seemed unconcerned. She patted her horse’s neck. “Have you had any luck finding Samson?”

  Damn. Henry had wanted to avoid the subject of Monica’s dog. He’d found his attention thoroughly distracted by Roxy Abruzzo.

  Before Monica noticed his involuntary flush, however, they were interrupted by the arrival of a large black Mercedes that barreled through the gates of the Hilltop estate and came roaring down the tree-lined alley that led straight to the garages. Fallen leaves blew attractively behind the car, and the sunlight glinted off the immaculately waxed vehicle.

  It would have made an ideal automotive commercial except for the scowling man who sat behind the wheel.

  “Quentin,” Henry said. “What’s he doing here?”

  Monica put her gloved hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the morning sun. “Oh, dear, he’s early.”

  “Early for what?”

  “We’ve scheduled a meeting with Dodo this morning.”

  “You’re seeing Dorothy?” Henry knew he was sounding like a fool, but the news that Monica and her brother-in-law intended to visit Henry’s client suddenly made him wish he’d put a few extra Rolaids in his pocket. “What for?”

  The Mercedes rocked to a stop nearby, sending the black horse into another frenzy of snorts and bucking.

  Quentin got out of the car and slammed the door. “Monica, have you forgotten? Or do you intend to ride Kensington over to Fair Weather Village?”

  “You’re early, Quen.”

  Irritated, Quentin checked his watch. “Now we’re going to be late. You know how Mother feels about punctuality. Good morning, Paxton.”

  “Hello, Quentin. I didn’t realize you were seeing Mrs. Hyde today. I’ll get my briefcase and join you.”

  “There’s no need for that.” Quentin spoke gruffly. “My mother is perfectly capable of talking to me without counsel.”

  “It’s no trouble. I’m happy to tag along.”

  “This is purely a family visit.”

  Henry ground his teeth. There was no telling what Quentin had up his sleeve. Or what Dorothy might be plotting. Which one had called the meeting? he wondered. And how did Monica fit into their plans? He tried again, saying, “Well, I can certainly drive separately, if you’d rather have time alone with Monica. I can be there in case Mrs. Hyde wants something done, you see. I’m always happy to help her in any way.”

  “We’ll be having a private discussion, Paxton. Can I say it any plainer? You won’t be needed.”

  From astride her horse, Monica said sweetly, “It’s not that we don’t appreciate your services, Henry. Of course we do. But we need to talk about Julius, you see, and what’s to be done.”

  “Well, if I can provide any—”

  “We’ll muddle through without you this morning,” Monica said. “But thank you, Henry.”

  The rear door of the Mercedes opened, and a person who had been invisible in the backseat climbed out of the car.

  “Arden!” Monica cried. “How nice to see you!”

  Henry’s insides contracted with a force he hadn’t experienced since a bout of dysentery in Portugal.

  Arden Hyde wore large black sunglasses. She was skinnier and paler than he remembered, and her hair looked both fashionable and dreadful. She yawned. “Hi, Monica. Hello, Henry. How’s life treating you?”

  “Hello, Arden. Very well, thank you.”

  Henry endeavored to keep his voice neutral, but he must have failed. Quentin came alive like a dog on point, and Monica sat up straight and glanced from Arden to Henry and back again.

  Henry said, “How was Jerusalem?”

  “Florence,” Arden replied. “I was fired. For encouraging the Italian government to return artwork to its rightful owner.”

  “How interesting,” Monica cried, not noticing Quentin’s wince. “I can’t wait to hear about that!”

  Arden said, “How’s your rash, Henry?”

  “All gone,” he replied. Quentin’s head looked as if it might explode all over the courtyard. “Nothing serious. Just an allergic reaction.”
<
br />   “Too bad,” Arden said. “It was kinda cute.”

  Quentin took charge of the moment. “Monica, we’re wasting time here. Get down from that animal, and we’ll leave immediately.”

  “I have to put Kensington back in the stable.”

  “Let Paxton take care of him.”

  “Me?”

  “Hurry up, Monica.”

  Monica slid down from the saddle and tossed her horse’s reins in Henry’s direction. Was her manner slightly cooler than it had been before Arden’s arrival? She said, “I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry, Quen. It’s not as if Dodo’s going anywhere.”

  “I don’t like to keep her waiting. Besides, I have other appointments later.”

  Monica remained cheerful. “I’m very curious to find out what you have planned. Are you staging a family coup? A corporate takeover?”

  “I’m taking care of the day-to-day matters, as always. Dodo likes to be kept informed. Let’s go, shall we?” He took her elbow and pulled.

  “I should change my clothes—”

  “Never mind about that. Paxton, you understand.”

  “Of course.” You greedy bastard.

  Henry wanted to warn Monica. He wanted to pull her aside and tell her to be careful or Quentin would hang her out to dry. She was just one small obstacle in his plan to get as much of the Hyde fortune as he could for himself and Hyde Communications.

  Monica threw a smile over her shoulder at Henry. “Take Kensington down to the stable for me, will you, Henry? You’re such a dear. Jerry’s there. He can take care of Kensington properly.”

  Arden gave him a flat expression. Then she got back into the Mercedes and slammed the door, the memory of a single unfortunate indiscretion obviously clear in her mind.

  Henry got a tentative grip on the extreme ends of the reins and tried to keep a safe distance between himself and any part of the horse that might kick or bite. Meanwhile, Quentin hustled Monica into the Mercedes, and a moment later they were roaring up the driveway and headed for the nursing home.

  To himself, Henry muttered, “I wish there was a way to prove Quentin killed his brother.”

  Kensington gave a declamatory snort and tossed his head.

  Henry said, “And he’s setting her up for a murder charge.”

  And what the hell was Arden doing back in town? What role did she play in Quentin’s plan?

  The horse must have decided to throw in with Quentin, too, because he suddenly yanked the reins out of Henry’s hand, spun around on his haunches, and took off running across the lawn. Before he disappeared from sight, the horse kicked his heels in Henry’s direction—as if he were making a final editorial comment on the situation.

  Henry watched the animal gallop away—probably a quarter million dollars on the hoof. At least he was headed for the stable. Didn’t all horses have some kind of homing instinct?

  Henry stood for a moment, weighing his options.

  That damn statue. If he could lay his hands on it, a lot of things would fall into place. Long enough, perhaps, for him to help Monica inherit Julius’s share of his mother’s fortune. And maybe need a younger man for a husband.

  His best lead was still Roxy Abruzzo. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out her necklace. Smiling, he watched her crucifix glint in the sunshine. Perhaps she had bested him once. But Henry had a flare for comebacks.

  16

  After her refreshing recreational hour with the college kid, Roxy had driven to Loretta’s place. She’d let herself into the silent house with her key and taken a shower before crashing on the sofa for a few hours. When she woke—way too early—she smelled coffee and something delicious.

  She followed the murmur of voices and pushed through the kitchen door to find Sage at the kitchen table, talking with none other than Patrick Flynn. Sage was looking teary-eyed, but she was smiling.

  But her smile faded when Roxy appeared wearing the rumpled clothes she’d slept in. Sage blew an exasperated sigh. “Mom, couldn’t you at least comb your hair? We’ve got company.”

  Flynn eased back in his chair. He looked freshly showered and annoyingly relaxed in a black fleece pullover and jeans. “You look more rested than you did when I saw you last. What happened?”

  “None of your business,” Roxy said. “I hope you’re here to make breakfast.”

  He tipped his head to indicate the cast-iron skillet on the stove. “Frittata. We saved you the crispy edges.”

  Roxy peeked into the skillet and used her fingers to pluck out a shard of cheese. Half the frittata remained in the pan, brimming with veggies and fluffy eggs. The cheese melted on her tongue, and Roxy closed her eyes to savor the taste. It sure beat Pop-Tarts for breakfast. “You can stay.”

  “I brought fresh coffee, too. But Sage tells me Loretta only uses instant.”

  Sage said, “I think she says that so I won’t want to try it. She says coffee will stunt my growth.”

  Roxy tugged the quilted cover off one of the many small kitchen appliances on the counter—all items Loretta had purchased on QVC. The existence of an expensive chrome version with an espresso feature indicated that Loretta—like all women of their ethnic background—knew exactly how to brew an excellent cup of coffee.

  “I see the light,” Flynn said, and he got up to make a pot with the bag of freshly ground beans he’d brought. He said, “Pretend you don’t see what I’m doing, Sage. You’re not supposed to be drinking caffeine now anyway, right? Just in case? I mean, it’s bad for the baby, isn’t it?”

  Stopped in the act of cutting herself a large wedge of the frittata, Roxy turned on her daughter. “You told him?”

  “Why not?” Sage bristled. “Aunt Loretta’s been crying in her bedroom since I told her last night. And you weren’t exactly supportive when I broke the news.”

  Since Flynn’s return to town, Sage had steadily been getting used to the idea of having a father. They all were. But Sage had a continuous pink blush whenever Flynn came around, which Roxy found both kinda cute and extremely annoying.

  Sage also exhibited signs that she thought her mother was an idiot not to marry Flynn immediately and make them one big happy family.

  Sage said, “Did you buy me a home test, by the way?”

  “I did, but Nooch sat on it,” Roxy snapped. “I’ll pick up another one.”

  “Thanks heaps.” Sage matched her tone.

  Flynn said, “Take it easy, the both of you. Either way, it’s good news, right? Babies are good news.”

  Sage looked unconvinced, and Roxy knew her own face wasn’t exactly reflecting joy.

  “Okay, so it might be happening a little earlier than you’d like.” Flynn poured water into the coffeemaker. “But, c’mon, it could be fun.”

  “Fun?” Roxy couldn’t stop herself and turned on him. “Exactly how many times did you host the birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese? Wash the sheets in the middle of the night during the stomach flu from hell? Dodging bullets in Afghanistan is a hell of a lot easier than—”

  “Mom,” Sage warned.

  Flynn didn’t need anyone coming to his defense. “You were the one who wanted to prove you could handle everything on your own. You threw me out of your life, remember? So eat your breakfast,” he said to Roxy. “It’ll improve your mood.”

  Roxy grabbed a fork from the drawer, plunked her plate on the table, and straddled a chair. She cursed herself for going to see him last night. Stupid move. And now here was Sage with stars in her eyes.

  Stabbing her food, she said, “So I guess all the important decisions have been made?”

  “What decisions?” Flynn asked.

  “Like whether or not she’s really going through with this. If she’s really…”

  “Pregnant,” Sage said. “You can say the word.”

  “If you are,” Roxy said, “there are other options.”

  “Dear God.” Flynn sat down at the table and stared. “Are you kidding?”

  “There’s adoption.” Roxy
ignored Flynn.

  “Okay.”

  “Or you could go for a clean slate, Sage. Forget this ever happened. I’ll help you and stand by you, if that’s what you want.”

  Flynn was flabbergasted. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Shut up. It’s easy for you to judge, Mr. I’m Gonna Join the Marines and See the World. She’s the one who’ll have a person depending on her for the rest of her life. She could have an abortion.”

  Sage said, “If I’m having a baby, I’m not getting rid of it.”

  “You sure?”

  “No adoption, no abortion. No way.” Sage lifted her chin.

  Roxy remembered how it felt to finally have something of her own after both her parents essentially disappeared from her life. She had something that gave her purpose against the world. It hadn’t been just the lessons taught at St. Dominic’s that gave her the conviction to hang on to her baby.

  “Okay, okay. I get it. I did the same thing, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I noticed,” Sage replied, with a little less heat. “Look, I know this isn’t going to be easy. But I can handle it.”

  Flynn took a deep breath to calm down. “You’re going to need help. That means your mom and Loretta.”

  Sage shot him an unsure look. “I have to ask their permission to go through with this?”

  “No, that’s your decision. But if you want them to pitch in once in a while—well, it’s only polite to ask.”

  Roxy was starting to get really annoyed by Flynn’s presence. If not for the fragrance of life-giving coffee brewing on the countertop, she’d kick him out the door. “We don’t need you to play referee.”

  “Maybe we do,” Sage snapped. “It’s kind of a novelty to have a voice of reason around.”

  Roxy forked another large chunk of frittata and ate it. “What about Zack?” she asked around her mouthful. “What’s his opinion on all this? Or are you keeping it a secret until you know for sure?”

  Again, Sage sent a glance at Flynn—an appeal for help.

  He said, “We were just talking about the best way to break it to him.”