Almost Home (8 page)
"The moment of truth," Zach echoed quietly.
It was true. He was afraid to find out what was going to happen, afraid that he
would fail. But this time was different. He'd searched for the right horse for
years, and when he'd found Rogue, everything had come together, the perfect
horse for the perfect dream finish at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in
May.
He could see it all in his mind—Rogue taking the last
turn, sprinting down the stretch, the Stanton colors of burgundy and gold a
bright, dazzling sight of brilliance, and Rogue crossing the finish line, going
into the winner's circle, the roses draped across his back.
Zach knew it could happen. It had to happen. He'd
invested every part of himself in Rogue, until he barely knew where the horse
ended and he began. Sam had warned him not to let the
less? It was the ultimate in horse racing, the most exciting two minutes
in
sports.
Two minutes. That was all it would take to send him
higher than a kite or crashing to the ground. Zach couldn't afford to make any
mistakes, and every time he thought about the
to his mind.
He'd thought once or twice in his life that he had a
chance to make it, really make it, and each time he'd lost. What if it happened
again? What if Rogue wasn't good enough? What if
he
wasn't good enough?
"Rogue has what it takes." Sam read Zach's
mind again with uncanny perception. "But he needs to know it. He needs to
be around the other
horses.
He needs to feel the excitement leading up to the
Zach looked over to the ring where one of the grooms
was hot-walking Rogue to cool him down from his workout. Rogue was still antsy,
high-stepping, tossing his head in the air. He was the kind of horse who had to
make sure you always
knew he was the
boss.
"I believe in Rogue,"
Zach said. "You're right. He needs to go to the track. I'll make
arrangements to take him down on Sunday."
"Good boy. Now, if
only I could get you to believe in yourself and have some courage. You're as
yellow as my aunt Edith's face without her makeup."
Zach laughed. "Haven't
you done enough for one morning?"
"Maybe you ought to
take a chance and give that sweet, reckless blonde a call. See how she's
feeling. See if she needs some company."
Zach frowned at him. "I
have work to do, a lot of it. Besides that, it's
in the morning. I don't think that city girl
will be up before
."
"Now you're making
excuses for yourself. Maybe Rogue could teach you a thing or two about
confidence."
"And maybe I could
teach you to mind your own business," Zach called after Sam as the trainer
headed back to the track. He had no intention of contacting Katherine
Whitfield. He'd had a hard enough time saying good night without taking her in
his arms and seeing if she tasted as good as she looked.
No, with any luck, she'd
taken his advice and gone back to
back to where she belonged, because it sure wasn't here.
This was his world—a world of barns and horses and big
fat tomcats and early morning swallows and puddles of water, smells of ammonia,
liniment, and manure. He loved the farm; he'd worked every job, from groom to
exercise rider to trainer to farm manager. He'd been kicked a dozen times,
thrown on his backside a few more, and still he loved the challenge of the
horses, the purest breed, the most pampered, the most spoiled, and in his mind
the most wonderful.
The horses didn't lie. They were who they were. Some
downright mean. Some generous. Some stupider than a fence post, some craftier
than his old man. But he could talk to the horses. He could understand them.
And they could understand him.
He didn't need to mess up his simple life with a
woman, at least not
that
woman.
The sun began to break through the mist as dawn turned
to day and Zach hurried to keep up with the never-ending chores. The next three
hours would be the busiest ones of the day. And with a little more luck he
could keep his mind on business and start thinking with his head instead of his
…
* * *
Katherine woke up
Thursday
morning with a bruise on her forehead and a dent in her heart. Zach Tyler sure
had taken a swing at her resolve. She told herself not to think about him or
his unnerving prophecy that her father might not be the man she wanted him to
be. Her mother wouldn't have gotten involved with a jerk.
Her mother. Katherine looked into the mirror as she
brushed her hair, wondering if she knew any more about her mother than she knew
about her father. They'd spent twelve years together, but in those years
Katherine had been a small child. She'd been content to curl up in her mother's
arms and read a book, to walk through the park hand in hand, to laugh at a
silly show on the television. They'd never really talked about her father. Even
when Evelyn had come to tell her she was marrying Mitchell, there had been
little explanation. She'd simply told Katherine it was time she had a father.
Katherine hadn't been against the idea. In fact, she'd
secretly been thrilled. A father. She'd always wanted a father, always wanted
to be like everyone else. Never mind that Mitchell barely spent two minutes
with her before the wedding ceremony; he was tall and strong and handsome and
he lived in a big house and promised her a bed with a canopy. She hadn't
thought much beyond that at the time. Then her life had come to a crashing halt
nine months later, and she'd been left alone with a man who had no idea what to
do with her.
Their relationship had been awkward over the next
year, each lost in grief and unable to reach out to the other. Then Cecily had
come into Mitchell's life, taking him even further away from Katherine. Cecily
and Mitchell had been a couple in love, interested in having a social life. The
last thing they'd wanted to do was spend time with a child who didn't belong to
either one of them.
Katherine didn't blame them for not loving her. She
wasn't their daughter and yet they'd provided her with a good home, a good
education, a good start in life. She'd always be grateful for their support.
Her life could have been a whole lot worse.
Katherine set down her brush, knowing she needed to
call Mitchell and tell him where she was. He and Cecily would be back from
their Mexican cruise by now. She made a face at herself in the mirror, knowing
deep down in her heart that they probably hadn't noticed she wasn't around.
Walking over to the bed, she sat down with one leg
tucked up beneath her and reached for the phone. Mitchell answered on the third
ring, his voice crisp and efficient.
"Whitfield residence," he said.
"Mitchell, it's me, Katherine."
"Katherine. How are you?" His voice warmed
ever so slightly.
"I'm fine. How was your trip?"
"Terrific. Fabulous weather, incredible food. We
ran into the Smythes, too. Played some nasty games of poker with that William
Smythe. I think he cheats."
"You always say that."
"It's true."
For a moment Katherine felt like she was back in her
real life, listening to her stepfather talk about his friends. And for that
moment, she was tempted to pack it all in, to go home, to give up. Then her
gaze drifted to the chest in the corner, and she sighed, knowing she could
never resume that life until she knew more about the quilt and her mother.
"Oh, Cecily says hello," Mitchell added,
shouting something to his wife. "She said you should come by sometime and
look at the pictures we took. She already had them developed."
"That sounds good. I'd love to see them."
Katherine twisted the phone cord between her fingers. "But it will have to
be in a few days."
"Whenever. How are things at the office?"
Katherine took a deep breath. "Actually, I'm not
at the office."
"You're not?" He sounded mildly surprised. "Are
you ill?"
"No. I'm in
"Good heavens! What are you doing there?"
"It's kind of a long story. When you were in
into the attic to get my old scrapbooks. I started looking through the boxes up
there and I discovered an old hope chest."
"What does the chest have to do with
His casual reply caught her off guard. "You
knew about the chest?" For some reason
Katherine had thought her mother had hidden it away up there.
"Of course I knew
about it. I think I was the one who carried it up to the attic when your mother
moved in with me."
"Then it did belong to
my mother?"
"Yes. Why?"
It was her mother's chest,
her mementos, her memories. Katherine felt suddenly energized and revived.
Although she'd believed the chest belonged to her mother, there had been a tiny
doubt in her mind and a fear that she'd come to
"Did Mom ever show you
what was in the chest?"
"I never asked."
"She never told you
about
"Or what?"
"My real father?"
He didn't answer for a
moment. "Your
real
father, huh?"
"Yes." Katherine
drew a nervous pattern on the top of her leg.
"I think I've told you before that I don't know
anything about your father."
"I just wondered if you'd forgotten anything, if
maybe the chest reminded you of some lost conversation."
"I don't think so. Oh, hang on a second."
She waited as she heard him answering the cook's
questions about dinner. She wondered how he could stop and calmly discuss
broccoli versus peas when she'd just told him she was in
then, she and Mitchell had rarely found the same topics of interest.
"All right. What did you say?" Mitchell
asked, returning to their conversation.
"I said I came to
father." She paused. "I hope this doesn't upset you, my looking for
him."
"Why should it?"
"Well, it doesn't mean I care any less about you."
"Of course it doesn't."
Mitchell was being so reasonable, so objective, so
dispassionate, Katherine wanted to scream. She knew it didn't make sense, but
part of her wanted him to care, to be angry, to feel jealous of her search,
because that would mean he wanted her affection, her love, her loyalty.
"Have you found him yet?" Mitchell asked.
"Not yet."
"What about your job?"
"I'm taking a few days off."
"Well, you take all the time you need. One of the
benefits of knowing the boss."
Knowing the boss, not being
the boss's daughter. Somehow there'd always been a distinction.
"Thanks, I—"
She waited as he once again conversed with someone,
Cecily perhaps, as they seemed to be discussing weekend plans, golfing and
tennis—or was it tennis and golfing?
"I have to go, Katherine," Mitchell said
abruptly. "Call us in a few days, won't you?"
"Sure. You know I love—" Her voice was cut
off by the dial tone. "Love you," she finished, hanging up the phone.
It had always been this way, her needing their love far more than they'd ever
needed hers. Well, no matter. Talking to Mitchell only made her more determined
to find her real father. Someone who couldn't possibly ignore her
…
Chapter
5
