Every Second Counts (18 page)

Skyler shook her head. “Can you walk or should I go find another a wheelchair and somebody to help us?”

“I can walk.” Ryder slowly stood. She still felt fuzzy, but after a slight wave of dizziness she found her balance.

“Why don’t you wheel me out while Skyler pulls the car up?” Jessica suggested. “It might help to hold onto the wheelchair.”

Skyler watched while Ryder gripped the handles and turned the chair toward the door. “You good?” she asked.

“Yeah, we’ll meet you outside.”

A quick kiss on Jessica’s cheek and Skyler was gone.

Ryder wheeled Jessica carefully out of the ER to the curb and squatted next to the chair. “You warm enough?”

“I’m fine. This baby is like carrying around a furnace. The night air feels good.” Jessica looked at her with affection. “You’re sweet to ask, though.”

She sat on the curb and pulled her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. She was very, very tired.

“It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. It seemed bleak to her.

“Skyler said Bridgette was upset with you. Is that what you’re worried about?”

Over the weeks that they had exercised together each day, they had become friends. Jessica was a good listener. They would walk laps back and forth in the pool for nearly an hour before Ryder realized Jessica’s gentle questions had coaxed her into revealing more of herself than she’d shared with most. She was wary of that tonight, because she felt abandoned. It was a festering wound that hadn’t bled since she had changed her name and left town to put the pathetic Marci Ridenhouer behind her.

“She didn’t even stop by to tell me she was going.” She turned her head away so Jessica couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. Marci Ridenhouer might cry, but Marc Ryder didn’t. She swallowed the tightness in her throat.

“You were probably asleep and she didn’t want to wake you.” Jessica’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “We can talk about it when you’re feeling better, if you want.”

She nodded, relieved that Jessica wasn’t going to pry. There was nothing to talk about. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Bridgette had said she wouldn’t leave her, but she did.

“I got blood all over Skyler’s shirt,” she said, to change the subject.

Jessica patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. She has a drawer full of those shirts. Besides, it’ll come out in the wash.”

She rested her head on her knees and felt like whatever it was that kept people from caring about her was a stain that would never wash out.

“We’re never going to get this done in time. We need help. You’ve unearthed a treasure chest.” Lydia pulled painting after painting from the racks and lined them up against the wall. “It’s true some of them are unfinished or just crap, but there must be at least fifty well worth auctioning.”

They had already spent three days sorting and appraising the paintings that hung downstairs before Bridgette had led Lydia upstairs to the studio. It was easier to come up with prices on Eleanor’s collection of other artists because they could compare each painting to that artist’s history of sales. But these Eleanor White canvases had never been circulated before.

“I have no idea how to price them,” Bridgette admitted.

“I think we should sort them into four groups, setting the base price for the least valuable at ten thousand and the most valuable at fifty thousand.”

“You don’t think that’s too much?”

“God, no. You’ll get way more than that. It’s just a starting point for the auctioneer. But if you don’t sell all of them, I can find buyers after the auction. Just the fact that she’s dead and they’ve never been on the market before increases their value.”

“It’s a pity artists have to die before they’re really respected,” Bridgette said absently.

“I’d rather have several opinions before I price them, but you haven’t given me much time. I do have a friend who used to appraise for Sotheby’s. I can probably get him down here on short notice.”

“We don’t have much of a budget to work with, and we’re using most of it for down payments on the catering and the like. Would he be willing to wait until after the auction to get paid?”

“I can guarantee it.” Lydia held up a large canvas that depicted a field of wildflowers. In the distance, a pensive, dark-haired child sat on a large rock, small and alone among the riot of color. “I can’t believe her granddaughter is donating all of the paintings. This one is amazing.”

“I think she plans to sell the house. She’s visiting here for several months, but she lives in Dallas.”

“This is an incredibly generous donation. You must have slept with her or promised your firstborn.”

Bridgette’s cheeks flushed as she turned away and picked up a canvas, pretending to study it. But she didn’t fool Lydia.

“Slut! You did sleep with her. What’s she like? Is she as beautiful and creative as Eleanor was?”

“No. She’s a twenty-eight-year-old juvenile with a stupidly hard head, who takes foolishly idiotic chances.”

Bridgette whirled toward the husky voice. Ryder was slouched against the doorframe. Despite the purple bruise across the bridge of her nose, she looked lethally sexy in black jeans and a black button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled back off her wrists.

“Isn’t that how you described me to Skyler?”

“I was angry with you for being careless with yourself.” The throbbing of her pulse wasn’t from anger now, but she’d never admit it to Ryder. Especially not in front of Lydia. “Have you thought about what the doctor said?”

Ryder shrugged. “I thought about it. Then I forgot it. Just like
you
forgot me.”

Her tone and smile bordered on teasing, as though she was accusing Bridgette of leaving her at the mall rather than injured in a hospital bed. But her eyes said it was more.

“I didn’t forget you. I had to get up early and Skyler offered to take you home. Since you’re staying with them, it didn’t make sense for me to drive you all the way out there.”

The air between them was thick with tension as they stared each other down. Ryder looked away first, pushing off the doorframe and turning to Lydia, who was watching them carefully. She extended her hand. “I’m Marc Ryder, Eleanor’s granddaughter.”

Lydia slid her slender hand into Ryder’s. “Lydia Wells. I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said. She cocked her head, then turned the painting she had propped against her leg toward Ryder. “You must be the child in this painting.”

Ryder shrugged. “Looks like it. I haven’t seen that one before.”

“You may wish to keep it then.”

“No. You can sell it with the rest.”

“That’s very generous, Ms. Ryder.”

“My friends just call me Ryder.”

“Then I’d love to count myself among your friends…Ryder.”

Bridgette had seen Lydia work a seduction before and it usually amused her. This time, it made her grind her teeth. She picked up a painting and shoved it at her. “Where should I put this one?”

Lydia took the painting but kept her eyes on Ryder. “If you’re free tonight, we could become better friends over dinner.”

Ryder kissed the back of Lydia’s hand. “I would be flattered, but perhaps another time. I’ve already promised to sit with a very pregnant friend while her partner attends a board meeting tonight.”

“I suppose you already have a date for the auction, too?”

“I’m afraid I do.” Ryder turned to Bridgette. “I know you’re busy, but I need a word with you.”

Bridgette hesitated. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with Ryder, but she certainly didn’t want to discuss anything personal in front of Lydia. “I’ll walk you out,” she said.

She was surprised that Ryder kept her distance as they stepped into the living room, fishing a folded paper out of her pocket and handing it over.

“I wrote down the contact for the cleaning company. They’ll take care of whatever you need, even moving furniture for the auction. They’ll also clean up afterward.” Ryder held up a hand to stop her protest. “It’s a tax deduction.”

“Thank you.” She had braced for angry words. She wasn’t prepared for Ryder’s all-business conversation. “I’m sorry about Lydia. She’s rather direct.”

“No harm.” Ryder looked like she wanted to say more, then looked away and continued explaining the contents of the paper. “The second contact is my attorney. He’ll prepare an agreement transferring ownership of the paintings you select and requesting that the endowment be named after Eleanor. She would have liked that.”

“Of course. I’m sure the board would be happy to comply with that stipulation.”

“The third number is my real-estate agent’s. If you would please notify her when you have cleared everything from the house that is sold at the auction, she’ll wait until then to list the property for sale. You can turn the house keys over to her.”

“So you are selling the house?”

“Yes. In fact, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in town. I promised Skyler I’d stay until the baby is born, but I don’t think Jess will hold out much longer. The auction is still two weeks away and I may be gone by then.”

She stared at Ryder. “You’re going back to Dallas,” she stated.

“Yes. That’s where I live.”

“I thought we had a date for the auction.”

“We still do if Jess doesn’t have the baby before then. If she does, then I’m afraid I’ll have to bow out.”

Damn her. “You have a concussion. Your face is still black and blue.”

“The rodeo-association doctor will have to clear me physically before I can enter events again.”

Her anger rose, quick and hot. “Do you think they care if you scramble your brains or some bull stomps you in the dirt again?” Her volume increased with each word and she was aware that Lydia had appeared at the top of the stairs, listening.

Ryder raised a nonchalant eyebrow, her response calm. “Sure, they care. They have to protect their asses against lawsuits.” She walked away, a clear signal that their conversation was over. But when she put her hand on the door, she turned back.

“What I don’t understand is why it matters to you.” Ryder didn’t wait for her to answer.

“I don’t know,” Bridgette whispered to the closed door.

*

Ryder was just pulling into the equestrian center’s drive when her cell phone rang and she checked the caller. Ross Johnston, her agent.

“Yeah?”

“That article on you in the ESPN magazine has generated a lot of interest. When are you coming back to work?”

It was all about business for Ross, but Ryder appreciated that. She didn’t care to make small talk with him. Unlike Hollywood portrayals of stars and their agents, Ross was not her friend. They didn’t even like each other. He believed riding bulls was men’s work. But he was an excellent contract negotiator and knew how to make money from the novelty of a woman competing in a man’s sport.

“My leg is good. I’ve been riding, even jumping a bit. It’s sooner than they expected, but I think I can get cleared to compete.”

“I’ll make that appointment for you and call back.”

“You don’t think they’ll feel it’s too soon?” She wanted, needed to get back to work.

“I can take care of that. You’ve got plenty of personal insurance. I’ll draw up a waiver clearing them of any liability if you are re-injured.”

“You’re all heart.” Her tone was sarcastic, but she welcomed his lack of concern for her welfare. She didn’t want people to care about her, because then
she
would start to care, to need them. That’s when she’d find out they didn’t care enough.

“You don’t pay me to hold your hand.”

“True. I pay you to find me sponsors.”

“Your sponsors are very happy about the ESPN article and want to see you qualify for the national.”

“Then I need to be back within the month. I promised to stay until my friend has her baby, but that should be any day now. Go ahead and see if you can get me an appointment with the doc in a couple of weeks. That should be plenty of time.”

“I’ll see if they have an opening and e-mail you the details. Baby or not, you better show up.”

“Don’t I always?”

She apparently had already disappointed everyone else in her life. Why not Jessica and Skyler, too?

Ryder opened the e-mail from Ross, confirming the details of her appointment with the rodeo-association’s doctor. Jessica had better pop that baby out soon or Skyler would just have to understand. After all, this was business, right?

She’d avoided going into town over the past week. She didn’t want to run into Bridgette in the coffee shop or the R&R again. But her grandmother’s house had drawn her like a siren because she knew Bridgette was there. She pictured her in Eleanor’s studio, the blond highlights of her curly mane glinting like spun gold under the sunlight streaming from the large windows. Her long fingers tracing the figures on a canvas, her full lips pressed tightly together as she considered the painting’s worth.

When the urge became too strong to resist, she had saddled Wind Walker and taken a circuitous route through the state park to emerge behind the stables of the mansion. She told herself she needed the long ride to strengthen her leg, but it was really because she didn’t want to drive past, in case Bridgette saw the truck and realized she was hanging about like a love-sick teenager.

She had skirted the stables, staying hidden along the edges of the woods and watching as cars and trucks came and went to unload staging lights and decorations in preparation for the event.

She had caught only a glimpse of Bridgette, stepping out the front door to greet Lydia and a gray-haired man. Lydia had touched Bridgette’s shoulder and trailed her fingers down Bridgette’s arm to clasp her hand with a familiarity that rankled Ryder. She remembered Lydia’s hand in hers. It was smooth and elegant, but generated none of the heat, the electricity she felt when she held Bridgette’s.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she printed her agent’s e-mail to tuck in her luggage. She had already packed, dressing each day out of her suitcase so she’d be ready the moment she could put Cherokee Falls behind her again.