Heiress (47 page)

She steered him toward the buffet table, a familiar hollow feeling in her stomach. It didn't seem to matter how much she ate anymore; she just couldn't seem to satisfy the ravenous appetite she'd acquired with her pregnancy.

"We will find a way. Do not worry," Ben assured her. "You will see when April comes."

"I hope so," she sighed and began piling the daintily cut sandwiches on her plate, adding a dollop of caviar on the side.

On the opposite side of the buffet table, a woman nudged her companion. "Look. Isn't that the new owner of River Bend?" she said, using a toothpick-speared meatball to point to her.

Abbie turned around to look in the direction the woman had indicated. There stood Rachel, a snow-white ermine stole draped low on her arms, revealing a black lace dress studded with sequins over a strapless underdress of rose satin.

"What's she doing here?" Abbie felt first cold, then hot. "She doesn't have any horses competing here, does she?"

"No. But I have heard that she has come to buy."

"The sales. Of course, she'd be here for them," she said.

And Abbie was also painfully aware that her own name wouldn't be on any of the invitation lists. Even if she was able to wangle a ticket from someone to attend one of the major sales—extravaganzas that rivaled any Broadway production—it would be in the bleachers. She certainly wouldn't be able to sit in the "gold card" section, the way she used to. Gaining admission to that favored area required a financial statement worthy of a Rockefeller—or Lane Canfield. But Rachel would be there, diamonds, ermine, and all.

For the rest of the show, Abbie was haunted by Rachel. No matter where Abbie went, she was there: in the stands, on the showgrounds, or at the elaborately decorated stalls of the major horse breeders. And she was always in the company of some important breeder—several of whom Abbie had once regarded as her friends. Finally, Abbie stopped going to the parties just to avoid being upstaged by Rachel.

Still, she wasn't able to escape all the talk about her. She had gone on a buying spree, purchasing some twenty Arabians either at the auctions or through private treaty. In the process, she had spent, some claimed, two million dollars. . . and became the new "darling" at Scottsdale.

Even though Abbie managed to come away with placings in two of the classes, she was glad when the show was over. Her pride had suffered about all it could stand. She needed to go home and lick her wounds.

Home. Looking around the old farmhouse, Abbie found it hard to think of it as home. River Bend was home. In her heart it would always be. But she tried not to think about that as she unpacked, because that meant thinking about Rachel.

At least her return had brought one consolation. Dobie didn't seem inclined to renew their argument. Although she sensed that he still totally disapproved of her activities, Abbie hoped he had finally realized she wouldn't change her mind. She was never going to be the stay-at-home, dutiful little wife and mother he thought she should be. The sooner he accepted that, the better their lives would be.

"Abbie! Hello? Are you here?" her mother called from the front part of the house.

"I'm back here in the bedroom." She scooped the pile of dirty clothes off the bed and started to dump them in the hamper, but it was already filled to the top with the two weeks' worth of Dobie's dirty laundry. Abbie dropped them on the floor beside it, wistfully recalling the days when there were maids to cope with all this.

"Are you resting? I. . ." Babs paused in the doorway and stared at the luggage and garment bags strewn about the room.

"Not hardly. I'm just now getting around to unpacking." She snapped the lid closed on the empty suitcase and swung it off the bed. "It took me all morning to clean the kitchen. Did you see the dust all over? It must be an inch thick. When Dobie lived here by himself, he used to keep this house neat as a pin. But he marries me and he suddenly becomes completely helpless around the house."

"Men can be like that."

"Totally uncooperative, you mean," Abbie muttered, trying to hide her irritation. "I hope business picks up some more. I can hardly wait until I can afford to hire a housekeeper."

"Couldn't you talk to Dobie about it? Surely he—"

"—would pay someone else to do the work he thinks I should do as his wife? No, Momma. I'm not going to waste my breath trying."

"I know that. . . you and Dobie have been having some problems. Most couples do when they're first married. There's always an adjustment period when two individuals start living together under one roof. Lately I've realized that it can't be easy for Dobie having his mother-in-law living next door."

"He'll get used to it." Abbie removed her evening dresses from the garment bag and inspected them for stains before carrying them over to the closet to hang up.

"Perhaps. But while you were gone, I found a small, one-bedroom condominium in Houston. I talked with Fred Childers at the bank and showed him what I've managed to earn from the parties. Of course, I'll have to use some of the money I received from Dean's estate to make the down payment, but the bank is willing to loan me the balance."

"Momma, you aren't moving," Abbie protested.

"I think it's best."

"For whom? And why? Whose idea is this? Yours or Dobie's? Momma, I'm going to continue to work with you. And if Dobie doesn't like it, that's his problem." She needed a source of income, more than what she could earn training and showing horses for others, if she was ever going to have the funds to pay the stud fee and buy more broodmares. She had every intention of building a breeding operation that would not only rival Rachel's but eventually surpass it. Rachel had it all now—the horses, the power, the money, the influence—but Abbie vowed that her turn was coming. Someday, all of Scottsdale was going to be talking about her.

"Dobie had nothing to do with my decision, although I honestly believe you two will get along better if I'm not popping in and out all the time. Besides, it will be much more convenient and practical for me to live in Houston. There won't be the time and expense of driving back and forth, not just for the parties themselves but to meet with the caterers and the suppliers, too. And I won't have all those long-distance charges on my telephone bill."

Abbie couldn't argue with any of that. Yet she smiled. "I wish you could hear yourself, Momma. Babs Lawson, the businesswoman." She had always loved her mother, but now that love was coupled with a new respect and admiration. "I'm proud of you, Momma. I really am."

"Look at who I had for a partner." Babs smiled, then paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "The truth is both of us have changed a lot these last several months—for the better, I might add."

Reaching out, Abbie warmly grasped her mother's hand, finding that they were on equal ground.

Within two weeks, Babs had moved to her condominium apartment in Houston. For Abbie, it was a strange feeling to have her mother out there in the world—on her own. She had more difficulty adjusting to this new independence of her mother's than Babs did.

Chapter 31

The rusty old pickup truck with a single-horse trailer in tow labored up the long incline, shuddering in the strong draft of each car that whizzed by it. On both sides of the wide swath the highway made through the mountains, the landscape was an arid and unfriendly collection of rock and sand, dotted with the scrawny clumps of sagebrush, prickly pear, and scrub grass.

Driving with the windows down, a pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Abbie kept glancing at the temperature gauge, waiting for the truck to overheat again. A hot wind, laden with dust from the Arizona desert, blew in and whipped at her ponytail, tearing loose strands of dark hair and slapping them against her face. She ignored it, just as she ignored the throbbing ache in her lower back and the uncomfortable soreness of her full breasts, intent only on coaxing the truck to the top of the grade. She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on the horse trailer in tow and the gray filly traveling inside it.

As they topped the rise, Abbie shifted out of low gear and sighed in relief. "It should be all downhill from here," she said to Ben, riding on the passenger side. Within minutes the desert community of metropolitan Phoenix came into view, sprawling over the mountain-ringed valley before them, a collection of towns all grown together. "I guess we don't have to wonder anymore whether Dobie's old pickup will make it this far. I just hope we don't have to make a return trip in the heat of summer. It's hot enough now in April." She doubted the pickup would be able to negotiate many of the mountain passes when summer temperatures sizzled over one hundred degrees.

"We will drive only at night then," Ben replied, unconcerned.

"I should have thought of that." Abbie smiled ruefully, recognizing that she was mentally as well as physically tired from the long trip.

Four days it had taken them to make the journey from Texas, stopping frequently along the way to avoid putting too much stress on the filly's legs and giving her a chance to rest and graze along the roadside. Except for some stiffness and minor swelling, River Breeze had weathered the trip well so far, better than Abbie had expected. Trailering long distances was hard on any horse and doubly so for a crippled filly like River Breeze.

In retrospect, Abbie was glad now that she hadn't been able to afford the cost of hiring a professional hauler to transport the filly to the stud farm in Scottsdale. He probably wouldn't have made the trip in stages the way she and Ben had, nor would he have taken the extra care they had.

The trip was definitely worth the time and trouble it had taken. No part of it had been easy. Right from the start, she'd had the problem of trying to find a horse trailer she could borrow. She didn't have a trailer hitch on her car, nor the extra money to buy one and pay to have it installed.

When she had tried to talk Dobie into letting her take his new truck, he had refused, then told her she was welcome to take his old one, fully expecting her to turn that down rather than take the risk of the beat-up old truck breaking down on the road somewhere. Out of spite, and sheer stubbornness Abbie had accepted it. She knew he would worry about her, and it served him right. Maybe he'd learn someday that nothing was going to stop her.

After driving since before dawn, they had stopped at a truck stop late that morning so Abbie could shower and change into her last set of clean clothes. Now that she was entering her fifth month of pregnancy, she couldn't squeeze into her regular clothes anymore and only had three maternity outfits to her name. She'd saved the nicest of the three for today, an embroidered tunic top with a pair of matching blue maternity slacks.

As they entered the outskirts of Phoenix, the traffic became heavier. "This is almost as bad as Houston." Abbie felt for the map on the seat and handed it to Ben. "Here's the city map. I've marked the route we need to take to get to Charlie Carstairs's farm. With all this traffic, you're going to have to watch for the signs and tell me where to turn."

Circulating fans whirred, maintaining a constant air flow through the stallion barn. At the far end of the double-wide aisle, a stable hand hosed down the brick floor to further cool the barn.

But all eyes were on the black bay Arab that had been led out of its box stall for their inspection. Rachel watched intently as the stallion arched its swanlike neck and danced on its back legs. Keeping a snug hold on the lead shank, the groom led the stallion around in a circle, then brought the animal to a stop directly before her.

The sight of him was so magnificent it nearly took her breath away. A faint thrill coursed through her veins as she stared at the black fire that burned in the stallion's velvety eyes, then lifted her gaze higher to the small ears, shaped like half-moons, pricked in alertness. Rachel inhaled the strong scent of him, a scent headier than any expensive perfume Lane had ever bought for her.

The large nostrils flared as the dark stallion lifted his small, refined head and trumpeted a call that quivered with longing. When she heard the answering neighs coming from the mares in the nearby barn, Rachel understood, feeling an odd twinge of envy.

Turning to Lane, she smiled faintly. "I think I recognized Simoon whinnying just then. I wonder if she knows she was answering her future lover."

"Somehow I doubt it," he replied dryly, his look one of gentle tolerance and amusement for her fanciful thought.

Rachel knew it was probably a foolish notion, but she wished, just once, he would go along with her. Then she immediately regretted being even faintly critical of him. From the very beginning, Lane had indulged her every whim when it came to horses, regardless of the cost or inconvenience. Just like this trip. Even though he had assured her he had some business to take care of in Phoenix, Rachel knew he was coming along to please her. He gave her so much that often she felt guilty she had so little to give him in return.

"Well? What do you think of Basha 'al-Nazir, Rachel, now that you've seen him close up?" Charlie Carstairs stood with his arms folded across his barrel chest, the large gold nugget he wore on a chain around his neck winking in the light as he angled his shoulders in her direction.

"He's truly magnificent." But in her mind she was imagining the foal that would come from this union.

"You can put him back in his stall." Charlie gave the order to the manager of his stud farm, Vince Romaine. With a wave of his hand, the short, thin man passed the order on to the groom holding the stallion, as spare with his words as Charlie was voluble. "Every time I see that stallion I wonder if really want to sell him," Charlie declared with a shake of his head. "But with Radzyn winning the championship here at Scottsdale, I've talked myself into concentrating my breeding program more on Polish-bred Arabians. That seems to be what the market wants today. And Radzyn has a lot of Polish blood in his breeding. As a matter of fact, Patsy and I are planning to go to Poland this fall and attend the sale at Janow. I'd like to pick up some good broodmares there to breed to Radzyn. The horse business is crazy, Lane. Five years from now everyone will probably be wanting Egyptian, and I'll be kicking myself six ways to Sunday for selling Basha. Then again, it may be Spanish-or Russian-bred Arabians."