Bluegrass Seduction (The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

For the moment, my thoughts went back to the preceding night and the discussion, a/k/a argument, between Auggie and myself. I was disappointed when she’d left so suddenly. She was going to ground, retreating when flustered and unhappy with not being able to break me, as she did her horses. Obviously, there was no way I should share the conversation between the bitch Jessup and myself, and Auggie should have known this. She should trust me enough to realize I was trying to help her. I was pissed that she didn’t, but, more importantly, wondered why that was? Did it have to do with me, or with something on her side of the circuit board?

It struck me then that I’d never cared about what anyone else was doing or thought until now. It wasn’t my habit to adjust my behavior to accommodate anyone, most especially not a woman. There was an ample supply. When you pissed one off, you simply went after the next. Even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself.

There was only one Auggie. That’s exactly why I was in the mess I now found myself in. I was going to have to make some major changes in my life, but somehow that didn’t seem like such a horrible thing at this moment.

That afternoon, when the last patient cleared the doorway, I locked up and headed for Joe’s. It was one place where I could think clearly.

Joe’s was clogged with the smoke of cigars and pipe tobacco. No one would ever think to file a complaint. There was enough power in that room at any one point to begin the next world war. I made my way to the end of the bar and ordered a bourbon. I forced myself to sip it slowly instead of ordering six or so lined up in advance. This was the new me.

The room was fairly filled this time of the day. It was a gathering of men to confer on the events that had gone on that day and tonight the talk was about the gubernatorial race and who they were to support. Politics in Kentucky was a variable uncertainty. State employees were expected to match the governor’s party affiliation or lose their job each term. There was an Independent in the race this election, an outsider who was calling for taxing land that wasn’t in crop production and raising inheritance taxes. This flew directly in the faces of the men in this very room, but the candidate had some momentum and he was forcing the others to talk about the topic. This made men in here nervous.

I overheard Clinton McLean. In fact, most everyone could since he’d been there for some time and was well into his private bottle. His voice raised in volume as he drank. Everyone knew he was having financial problems, primarily as a result of divorcing Mrs. McLean, whose legs had spread for a few other men but more importantly, whose family had provided the backing to buy his thoroughbred farm. It sounded as if his place would go to the attorneys.

I had enough of my father in me to buy him another bottle and slide over to the stool next to where he sat.

“McLean,” I acknowledged and he raised the bottle in salute. He wore the requisite wool jacket with patch sleeves and he reeked of booze. Even in this environment of well-worn couture, he stood out as having seen better days.

“Thank you, young LaViere.”

“Couldn’t help but hear you might be putting the farm on the market. Any truth to that?”

He looked upward, as if seeking guidance, blew a smoke ring toward the antique tin ceiling and nodded. “It’s a fact,” he confirmed.

“Remind me, how many acres?” I asked casually.

“Well now, the house sits on a twenty or so, the barns and farm manager’s house on another thirty. There’s two hundred in tobacco base and another two thousand fenced for pasture. What’s that add up to?” His mind was beyond the math.

“She’s to get it all, I take it?” I asked.

He belched loudly and froze for a moment as if considering whether more of his stomach contents were to follow. “Every fuckin’ thing. What the two-timin’ whore won’t get, the lawyers will take.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I sympathized, to which he nodded.

“McLean, what do you say we get your mind off this for a bit and have a nice, friendly game of cards?”

He considered this and smiled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he responded and we adjourned to the room beyond the bar. This was a cooler, cleaner atmosphere and the furnishings were sparse. There were a few gaming tables and I headed to one of the poker rounds and took a seat. Most of the crowd from the bar had overheard and followed us inside.

McLean took his seat. A couple of others attempted to sit in, but I waved them off. This game was between McLean and me. I wanted witnesses but no more players. There were grumbles of ungentlemanly behavior as a few glared at me, tugging at their pipes in admonishment.

It was child’s play. McLean quickly lost the meager pile of cash he had on him, so I raised the stakes. He looked around for someone to stake him, but was met with opaque stares. He was flushed, beginning to feel ill. I saw the time was right.

I pushed everything I had into the center of the table, twenty thousand at best. “McLean, I have a proposition for you. Let’s play one more hand. I’ll bet everything I have on the table and you put up your farm.”

The groan of disapproval was loud around the room. There was even some movement to indicate a few were preparing to drag either McLean or me outside, but we were all gentlemen and as such, responsible for our personal behavior. It was their code that prevented them from interfering.

McLean considered my proposal but his eyes were fixed on the pile of cash in the center of the table. He reasoned that he had little to lose and untraceable cash to gain, so he finally nodded in assent.

It was quick work. My three of a kind beat his pair of aces and there was a general uproar of disapproval throughout the club.

I pulled the cash toward me and then extracted five, one-hundred dollar bills. I pushed them toward McLean and said in a voice that those close by could hear, “It’s been an honor, sir. This is for our bar bill and I expect you to be in my office first thing in the morning with the signed title to your property. I have but one requirement,” I added and there was a hush. “I will hold title to the entire property until such time as the whorin’ bitch is gone and then I would like to lease back the house and its twenty acres to you, for a dollar a year. If you decide to vacate for any reason, including drinking your way to an early grave, it reverts to me. Will also be needing someone to keep an eye on the place and see to things — someone who might know a thing or two about the horse business. Pays a hundred thousand a year. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers.”

McLean’s eyes went from desolation to a glint of consciousness and realization of what just transpired. His mouth worked up and down even as his head shook left and right. “Where will you live?” he finally asked.

“I’ll build,” I commented, standing.

“You are a gentleman, it’s true and a man who outranks his sire,” he said, paying me a high compliment indeed.

There was a general murmur as word spread of what just transpired. Mr. Dougherty, probably the most respectable of the equine pirates inside stopped me by the arm. “That was a noble thing to do, young LaViere, but how will you get her to sign off on it? Surely her name is also on the title.”

“She will have no choice,” I said quietly. “Liens must be satisfied before divorce settlements,” I said and he nodded, considering the legalities. What I neglected to tell him was that the errant Mrs. McLean was also one of my patients, one who habitually tugged down her neckline and reclined on the sofa with her legs opened for my approval.

I left Joe’s on a cloud of approval and the fresh air outside held promise.

Auggie

D
epression sat heavily on my shoulders and I decided to stay home. It was time to put myself through some introspection. I was no longer a child, no longer the college student. I was a woman and if I wanted to be taken seriously, it was time I took myself seriously.

I began by going through my wardrobe, making piles of my clothes. One pile was high school things I’d held on to for sentimental reasons. These went into bags and would go for donation. The next pile was college clothes. Most of these would go for donation too. I kept a few pieces with the school logo and sorted through some sweaters I loved, and, of course, my riding clothes. This left me with what I’d bought since I’d graduated and it was scarce, to say the least. Tomorrow, I would drive into the city and buy myself a new wardrobe, maybe even stop for lunch and at the salon.

With all the clothes out of the closet, I spied boxes of keepsakes in the back. I dragged these out and began sorting. I found photo albums from when I was a young girl before everything was digital. Two of my favorites were collections of my younger days riding Steeplechase. I turned the pages, running my hand over the pictures in remembrance of those sunny days on the courses, the smell of the horses and the applause from onlookers as I was awarded ribbon after ribbon. Indeed, there were several pages where I’d stuck in these ribbons and they felt like children I’d given birth to. This was a huge part of my soul and I knew I could never leave it behind, not for anything or anyone.

I turned the page and saw pictures of riding barbecues my parents had held. My mother looked so fresh-faced, and slender and her hair was her natural shade of red. In other pictures, there were guests at the house, each one posing or deep in discussion or ignoring the camera completely. I turned the page and stopped in shock. There was a picture of Worth!

My mind blanked as I scrambled for an explanation and then realized that there was no way it could have been him. He would have been too young. I looked carefully and realized the man in the photos was not as tall and was stockier. This must be his father. How odd that neither Mother or Dad mentioned this. Perhaps they’d forgotten, I told myself as I continued to page through.

I found a picture of Mrs. Jessup in her prime. She’d been a beautiful woman, a proud carriage and gentleness in her smile, even then. It had been considered an honor when she attended an affair, a sort of supportive gesture that you had arrived and were one of the elite. Now she was rotting in that nasty facility. My heart ached for her. I resolved that I would get to the attorney as soon as possible and put our heads together to see what could be done to form a foundation.

This reminded me of the night before and Worth’s assurance to trust him and to call on Mrs. Jessup’s son for a sponsorship. I don’t know why Worth was so insistent, or what could have changed so quickly in the Jessup household, but this definitely bothered me.

Was I unable to trust Worth? Perhaps it was because I couldn’t trust anyone, no matter who they were. I certainly didn’t trust Mother, but Dad had never let me down. Was it possible that Worth was one of the good ones?

I could tell Mother didn’t approve of my seeing him, but why? Worth ticked all the boxes on her ‘best son-in-law’ checklist. So why the hesitation? I couldn’t ask because I knew she wouldn’t be honest, nor would she forbid our relationship because she knew it would only renew my rebellion. She couldn’t take any chances now that I was an adult.

Was Worth the forbidden candy for me? Did I truly care for him? In my heart, I knew the answer.

***

I loved the baby blue Mercedes Dad bought me for graduation. It suited me and drove like a well-trained horse. I skirted Mother’s questions as I loaded the bags of clothes for donation into the trunk and back seat. After dropping them off, I headed for the malls and for the more exclusive shops tucked here and there downtown.

My body changed since I was in school. While I hadn’t really put on weight, the more feminine areas of bust and hips had filled out and the increased exercise of riding had shaped my legs nicely. Thus, I opted for some short dresses that showed these off to my advantage. By the time I drove home, my back seat and trunk were as filled as they’d been coming into town. I carted everything upstairs and began hanging things up. Mother stopped in to see what I’d bought and I could actually see jealousy in her eyes at the assortment and most especially, the size.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Worth’s father?” I asked, intentionally taking her unaware.

She looked at me, a blank look on her face. “What do you mean?”

I laughed at her absurdity. “I found the picture in the scrapbook. At first, I thought it was Worth and then realized the timing was all wrong and this man was shorter. You were in the picture, so surely you knew him.”

“Oh, your father was forever throwing those barbecues and I suppose he knew Worthington and included him. I didn’t keep up with all your father’s friends,” she said, although I noted that she called him by his full name and not simply “Worth.” Perhaps he was, indeed, the power-wielding man Worth suggested he was and giving him a nickname seemed too disrespectful. I was glad Worth didn’t feel that way, although I suspected he encouraged people to call him Worth as a means of demeaning the first name he’d inherited. If there ever was more of a rebel than me, it was Worth.

It made me feel warm inside to defend him and to consider him as belonging to me.

After I put the clothes away, I called a friend of mine who had graduated from law school at UK and made an appointment for the next day. I would ask his help in creating the foundation. Then would come the test of asking Jessup for the first donation, as Worth suggested. The prospect didn’t scare me, but it did make me wonder once again what Worth had done to turn things around so dramatically.

I knew, instinctively, that the men in our set were accustomed to handling business deals outside the office. This had long been their tradition and huge transactions went down on the strength of a handshake. Nevertheless, this was becoming a way of the past as new money continued to infiltrate the establishment, and they brought with them their rules and legal advisors. I didn’t want Worth to somehow overlook the transition in how things were done, or to get caught out of his element and be unable to maneuver his way out of the predicament by calling in old favors. He was a grown man, however, and I’d have to trust him as he was asking me to do.