The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  He tapped out his cigar. “That definitely sounds like an ultimatum.”

  “It is.” She shoved her plate aside and picked up her jacket. “It’s a long drive home. We’d better get started.”

  She would think a great deal about the little boy who had hustled and conned his way through childhood. A child who had gone to bed at night listening to whores and drunks instead of lullabies.

  How much of the boy remained with the man, she didn’t know. More, she thought, than Gabe believed. More, she was certain, than anyone would ever be allowed to see.

  He had, quite simply, refashioned himself. The smooth, easy manners, the stunning house on the hill, his stable of champions. How many of the upper crust of the racing circle knew his back-alley upbringing? If they did, was it considered some amusing eccentricity?

  Whatever Gabe wanted to the contrary, she was beginning to understand him. And whether he could see it or not, she already cared.

  It was nearly one A.M. when Bill Cunningham hurried to answer the banging at his front door. Over his naked paunch he wrapped a Chinese red silk robe. A peek through the window made him glad Marla, his latest honey, was a sound sleeper. He liked to think it was great sex that had her snoring away in his big water bed. But more likely it was the ’ludes she ate like candy.

  Whatever the reason, it relieved him that he was alone to greet his late and unwelcome visitor.

  “I told you never to come here,” Cunningham hissed while smoothing down what was left of his hair. Once the Derby was over, he was going to treat himself to a weave.

  “Now, now, Billy boy, nobody saw me.” Rich was past the midpoint of a solid drunk. He didn’t wobble, didn’t so much as slur a word. But it showed in the sun-bright glitter in his eyes. “And if they did, hell—no law against a man visiting an old poker buddy, is there?” He grinned, casting his gaze around the opulent foyer. Old Bill had bounced back pretty well, Rich noted, and figured he could squeeze his pal for a few more bills. “How about a drink?”

  “Are you crazy?” Despite the fact that only Marla was in the house, and she was cruising on barbiturates, Cunningham whispered. “Do you know the cops have been here? Here,” he repeated, as if his overdone home were as sacrosanct as a church. “Asking questions because some big-mouthed groom told them I’d let Lipsky shovel shit for a couple of days.”

  “Told you that was a mistake. But a little one.” He held up two fingers close together, squinted at them. “Where’s the bar, Bill? I’m dry as the fucking Sahara.”

  “I don’t want you drinking in my house.”

  Rich’s grin only widened, but his eyes turned hard. “Now, you don’t want to talk to a business partner like that, Bill. Especially since I have a new proposition for you.”

  Cunningham moistened his lips. “We’ve got our deal.”

  “Just what I want to talk about. Over a friendly drink.”

  “All right, all right. But make it quick.” He shot a look up the stairs as he walked by them, going into a sunken living room done in golds and royal blue. “And quiet. I’ve got a woman upstairs.”

  “You dog.” Rich gave him a friendly poke in the ribs. “Don’t suppose she’s got a friend. I’ve been dry there awhile, too.”

  “No. And keep your distance. I don’t want her to know about you, or any of this. She’s built, but she’s not bright.”

  “Best kind of woman.” With an appreciative sigh, Rich dropped down into a wide-backed chair covered in gold velvet. “You sure know how to live, pal. I always said, that Billy boy, he knows how to live.”

  “Just make sure you don’t go around saying it now.” Cunningham poured two drinks, both twelve-year-old scotch. It seemed like a waste on Rich, but he needed to impress. Always. “You were supposed to handle Lipsky.”

  “I did.” Pleased with himself, Rich swirled the scotch, sniffed it, then swallowed it. “Classy, don’t you think, to put him down like you put down a horse?”

  Cunningham’s hand shook as he lifted his glass. “I don’t want to hear about that. I’m talking about before. Jesus, Rich, nobody was supposed to get killed. Old Mick was like a saint around the track.”

  “An unforeseen complication,” Rich said, getting up to refill his glass. “And Lipsky certainly paid for it. But seeing that he did adds to my overhead, Bill. It’s going to cost you another ten thousand.”

  “Are you nuts?” Cunningham sprang up, spilling some scotch. “You did that on your own, Rich.”

  “To protect your investment. It would have taken the cops five minutes to have Lipsky pointing the finger at me. It points at me,” he said affably, “it points at you. So, another ten, Billy. It’s a fair price.”

  He swallowed hard. The money that had come into his hands for Big Sheba had been a miracle. But the miracle had a price. “You might as well ask for ten million. I’m leveraged to the hilt.”

  Rich had expected that and was ready to be reasonable. “I can wait until after May, no problem. What’s a couple of weeks between friends? Now . . .” He crossed his legs. “I’ve come up with an idea, Billy. A little variation on our theme that will pay off for both of us. You want to collect at Churchill Downs, and so do I. But I also have a job to do, and a score to settle with that boy of mine.”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn about your family problems, as long as the job gets done.” But the idea of paying Gabe back began to creep through him, warming more thoroughly than the scotch. “This business with Lipsky damn near ruined things.”

  “Not to worry. Not to worry.” Lazily, Rich waved his glass. “I’ve got it covered—with, as I said, a little alteration.”

  “What kind of alteration?”

  “Well now,” Rich sighed, sipped. “I’m going to tell you. And I think you’re going to appreciate the irony of the deal, Billy boy. I really think you are.”

  Later, when Cunningham crawled back into bed, he was shivering. He wasn’t a bloodthirsty man, he assured himself. It wasn’t his fault two people were dead. Just the luck of the draw, as Rich had said.

  Maybe he was crazy to have tied in with Rich Slater, but he was desperate. And the timing had fallen so perfectly in his lap, he’d considered it a sign. Rich’s adjusted plan made a hideous kind of sense.

  What choice did he have? Cunningham asked himself. If he lost at Churchill Downs there would be no more Marlas, no more big country house, no more strutting into the paddock.

  Big Sheba was, he’d thought, his ace in the hole. He’d sunk his money, every spare dollar and all he could borrow, into that filly. And she had short lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself for gambling on the horse.

  He needed the Derby, just the Derby, to recoup. Once that was done, he’d breed her. He could live well on the price of her foals.

  It had been done before, he thought, going back over Rich’s plan. And he’d slipped through that without much more than a ripple. One race, he thought, just one good race.

  Needing warmth, he wrapped himself around Marla until her snoring lulled him to sleep.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  IT WAS A LONGER DRIVE THAN KELSEY REMEMBERED FROM RURAL Virginia to suburban Maryland. A long time to think. She didn’t doubt she would meet with resistance. And unless things had changed in the last few weeks, formidable resistance. Candace was sure to have contacted Milicent to tell her Kelsey was on her way.

  Better to face them all at once, Kelsey decided. To shock them, disappoint them, outrage them. A perfect description, she thought with a wry smile. Candace would be shocked, her father disappointed, and her grandmother outraged.

  And she, she hoped, would be happy.

  When she pulled up in the drive, her father was working in the flower bed. He wore an old sweater, patched at the elbows, and grimy-kneed chinos to weed the just-budding azaleas.

  The surge of love came first as she dashed from her car and across the neatly trimmed lawn to hug him. They stayed, knee to knee, admiring the flourishing shrubs.

/>   “I love this house,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just recently I realized how lucky I was to grow up here.” She thought of Gabe and brushed a hand over salmon-colored blooms. “How lucky I was to have you, to have flowers in the yard.” She smiled a little. “Ballet lessons.”

  “You hated ballet lessons after six months,” he remembered.

  “But I was lucky to have them.”

  He studied her face, brushed at the hair that tumbled over her shoulders. “Is everything all right, Kelsey?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve been worried about you. This recent violence—”

  “I know.” She cut him off. “It’s horrible, what happened to both of those men. I wish I could tell you it doesn’t affect me, but of course it does. But I am all right.”

  “I like seeing that for myself. Phone calls aren’t the same.” He gathered his gardening tools in a wire basket. “Well, you’re home now. That’s what matters. Let’s go around through the back or Candace will skin me alive for tracking the floors.”

  Kelsey slipped an arm around his waist as they walked. “I see Grandmother’s car.”

  “Yes, Candace phoned her when you said you were driving in. They’re inside, planning for the spring charity ball at the club.” He shot her a sympathetic smile. “I believe finding you a suitable escort is at the top of their list.”

  She winced automatically, then remembered. “The spring ball. That’s in May, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, the first Saturday.”

  That was the day when spring came to Kentucky, she thought. The same day every year. Derby day. She supposed missing the ball would be another sin on her part.

  “Dad.” She waited as he set down his tools in the little mudroom that was as spotless as the rest of the house. “I’m not going to be in town that weekend.”

  “Not in town?” He moved through to the kitchen to wash his hands. “Kelsey, you haven’t missed a spring ball since you were sixteen.”

  “I realize that. I’m sorry, but I have plans.” He said nothing, only dried his hands on a towel. The disappointment, she thought, had already begun. “I have plans,” she repeated. “I’d better tell all of you about them at once.”

  “All right, then.” Trying not to worry, he went with her to the sitting room.

  Candace and Milicent were already there, chatting over tiny, crustless sandwiches and Dresden cups of tea. Jasmine, Kelsey deduced after a discreet sniff of the air. It occurred to her that if she’d been at the barn at this time of day, she might be wolfing down a sloppy cold-cut sub and strong black coffee.

  Her tastes, among other things, had changed quickly.

  “Kelsey.” With a delighted laugh, Candace rose to kiss both of her stepdaughter’s cheeks. Kelsey caught the subtle scent of L’Air du Temps that mixed with the tea and her grandmother’s signature Chanel.

  Drawing-room scents, Kelsey thought; she’d gotten entirely too used to barnyard ones. She embraced Candace with more enthusiasm, almost in apology.

  “You look wonderful. New hairdo?”

  Instinctively Candace patted her short sable locks. “You don’t think it’s too ingenue, do you? I swear Princeton can talk me into anything.”

  “It’s perfect,” Kelsey assured her, remembering suddenly that she hadn’t visited Princeton, or any other hairdresser, for that matter, in weeks. “Hello, Grandmother.” The greeting, like the kiss on the cheek, was stiff and dutiful. “You’re looking well too.”

  “You’ve gained back some weight, I see.” Milicent sipped her tea, appraising Kelsey over the rim. “It’s flattering. Be careful you don’t let it go too far, though. Small bones don’t carry weight well.”

  “Most of it’s muscle.” Kelsey flexed her biceps just to irritate. “It comes from shoveling manure and hauling hay.” Smiling, she turned to a dubious Candace. “I’d love some tea. Don’t worry, I washed up after the morning workout.”

  “Of course, of course. Sit down, dear. Philip, you’re not carrying that garden with you?”

  “Not a speck.” He accepted the tea and a tiny sandwich without complaint. When Channing returned home that evening, Philip knew he’d have company on a refrigerator raid. “The azaleas are early this year. I don’t think they’ve ever looked better.”

  “You say that every spring.” Affectionately, Candace patted his hand. “You know, we’re the only house on this block without a gardener, and there isn’t a yard that can compete with ours. Not when Philip gets done working his magic.”

  “A nice hobby,” Milicent agreed. “I’ve always preferred tending my own roses.”

  She turned her attention to Kelsey. At least, she thought, the girl had had enough sense to dress suitably. She’d been nearly certain Kelsey would flaunt her prickly stubbornness by driving out in muddy boots. But the apricot-toned jacket and slacks were flattering, and tasteful.

  “As it happens,” she began, “Candace and I were just discussing the floral arrangements for the spring ball. We’re on the committee. You have a good eye for such things, Kelsey. We’ll delegate you to work with the florist.”

  “I appreciate the confidence, but I’ll have to pass. I’m afraid I won’t be here.”

  “For the ball?” Candace laughed again, poured more tea. “Of course you will, dear. It’s expected. I realize you might feel a little awkward, with the divorce finalized, and Wade attending with his fiancée, but you mustn’t let it bother you. In fact, Milicent and I were just working on a solution to that problem.”

  Kelsey started to explain, then stopped. “Oh, were you?”

  “Yes, indeed.” All enthusiasm, Candace added a lump of sugar to her tea. “It was certainly sweet of Channing to escort you last year, but we hardly want that to become a tradition. In any case, people will talk less if you have a more conventional date.” The perfect hostess, she offered around the tray of cucumber sandwiches. “As it happens, June and Roger Miller’s son has just moved back to the area. You must remember Parker, Kelsey. He’s been practicing oral surgery in New York for the last few years, and has just taken a position with a prestigious practice in D.C.” She added with a sly smile, “Parker’s never married.”

  “Yes, I remember him.” Excellent family, social status. The right schools, the right profession, the right everything. It wasn’t his fault, Kelsey supposed, that she saw him as a Wade Monroe clone.

  “I’ve already spoken with the Millers.” Pleased with the maneuver, Milicent sipped the delicately fragrant tea. “Parker will escort you. It’s all arranged.”

  Typical, Kelsey thought, fighting a rising anger. It was all so typical. “I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Miller are delighted to have Parker back in the area, and you’ll have to give him my best. But I won’t be here. I’m leaving for Kentucky this week, and won’t be back until after the first weekend in May.”

  “Kentucky?” Milicent snapped her cup down in its saucer. “Why on earth are you going to Kentucky?”

  “The Derby. Even in your circles, Grandmother, it’s an acceptable event. I imagine it’ll be a very hot topic of conversation at the ball after Three Willows’ colt wins it.” She looked at her father, hoping he would understand. “I’m going to be there when he does.”

  “This is inexcusable,” Milicent shot back. “The Bydens are founding members of that club, back to your great-grandfather. We have always attended the ball.”

  “Things change.” Kelsey fought to keep her tone reasonable rather than hard. “I have a job, a responsibility, and a need. I’m not willing to overlook any of them for a dance at the country club. And, Candace, as much as I appreciate your concern, I don’t want an arranged escort. I’m involved with someone.”

  “Oh.” Candace blinked and struggled to look pleased. “Well, of course, dear, that’s delightful. You must bring him.”

  “I don’t think so.” In sympathy, she squeezed Candace’s hand. “I don’t think he’s the country club type.”

  “One of your stable hands, I
suppose,” Milicent said bitterly.

  “No.” Unable to help herself, Kelsey didn’t leave it at that. “He’s a gambler.”

  “You’re just like your mother.” Spine ramrod stiff, Milicent rose. “I warned you,” she said to Philip. “You wouldn’t listen to me about Naomi, and you wouldn’t listen to me about her daughter. Now we all pay the price.”

  “Milicent.” Standing quickly, Candace hurried out of the room after her mother-in-law.

  Kelsey set her tea aside. She’d been sorry almost before the words were out. Not because of Milicent’s feelings, but her father’s.

  “That wasn’t very tactful of me,” she began.

  “Honesty was always more your forte than tact.”

  His voice was weary and stirred up more guilt.

  “You’re disappointed. I wish there was a way I could do what I need to do and not disappoint you.”

  “It’s a situation that can’t please everyone.” He rose, turning his back to her as he walked to the windows. He could see his azaleas, the tight buds just freeing up the inner blossoms. The blossoms wouldn’t stay trapped, but would burst through the well-meaning protection and spring defiantly to life.

  “You’ve connected with her,” he said softly. “I can’t say I didn’t expect it. So much about you is the same, so much more than your looks. A part of me, a part I’m ashamed of, wants to tell you that you’re making a mistake. That you don’t belong there. That part of me doesn’t want to see how happy it makes you that you do belong there.”

  “I feel as though I’ve found what I’m supposed to do. That I don’t need to race around the next corner to see if there’s something there more interesting, more important. That’s all I was doing with my life. We both know it.”

  “You were searching, Kelsey. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed of it. But I’m tired of it. I’m good with the horses, with the work, with the people. I can’t go back to my apartment, to busywork jobs, to weekends at the club. I feel as if I’m . . .”